Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Best Christmas EVER!

I know, I know, you think the EVER is a little much. But it is just fact. The only thing that makes me excited is that there may be better ones in the future. So let's look at the list.

1. We had all the kids and grandkids here for a couple of days. No arguments, well, unless you count the thermostat argument. We discovered Christmas morning at breakfast, after the Santa had come and gifts had been exchanged, that each of our kids and their spouses have differing views of what the temperature ought to be for optimum sleeping. By my count the thermostat, in one night, was changed 4 times. The really stunning thing is that my oldest daughter and her husband really had no opinion and only changed it once. My son and his wife were sleeping in a room we just converted from an office to a bedroom and, well, apparently they thought it was a little warm. So when they went to bed, they changed the setting to 60. Which transformed the other two bedrooms into North Pole type rooms. When my eldest went to bed, she thought it was a little cool, so she turned it to 75. Sometime after 11PM, my son got up and changed it back to 60 because his wife had a dream that she was dying of thirst and couldn't get any water. At 3AM my youngest with her 3 month old, woke up and with baby crying realized it was sub-arctic , moved the baby into bed with them and reset the thermostat to 75, thus starting the cycle all over again. I think I'm going to put one of those cages on the thermostat with a key, but
I really don't want them coming downstairs at all hours of the night to get us to change the setting. By the way, yours truly and my bride slept just fine. But it was great fun listening to them give each other a hard time about resetting the temp. Finally after 30 years of teaching they finally understand that what you do affects others...never thought of using the thermostat.
2. Great food. We have started a tradition introduced by my first S-i-L of having Pisoli(spelling?) Christmas eve, a sort of New Mexican dish but with hominy. I skip the hominy, but eat the pork roast. Baked Ziti, Christmas cookies, big breakfasts, all good food, with my favorite people. What's not to like.
3. Non-expensive gifts to me from my kids. I always try to develop a list that costs very little. I don't mind spending a little on Christmas, I just hate having it spent on me. Probably the best thing was a serving platter decorated with my grandkids feet imprints and hands...and yes, a future nod to one who will be here around the first of July.
4. Time with Eli and Phoebe and Lincoln. I will just sum it up to say that I cannot hear "Grandaddy" too many times. It is tonic for the soul.

Finally, this was a great Christmas where all my kids and grandkids and bride are all in a good place. This past year has marked deep and intense prayers for each one. They all had struggle, they all had heartache, they all were making decisions that would impact their world and ours. So I spent the year on my knees pleading for my little family, asking God to intervene, to support, to simply answer. And He did, as He always does. Sometimes quietly, sometimes openly, but He chose this year year to test us all, then bless us all. I was on hand to see tremendous character revealed in each of my in-law kids. I found that their tears impact me in the same way as the tears of my own. But I also was on hand to see their smiles, their gratitude, and their fortitude. There will be times to come that will test us again, but we will be ready, with our faith, our memories, and our character.

This was, indeed, the best one yet.

Godspeed, the new year is full of promise, but what a way to end this one.
Don

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Surprise!

Saturday was one of those days you get in the pre-holiday weekends. I had decided to get the Christmas decorations cartons back in the attic, which is a little bit of a chore. Picture a very large plastic storage bin being shoved up the ladder into the attic opening, then pushed as far as possible towards the back of the attic, then the next bin...40 times or so. My eldest s-i-l has the best situation, their house has a huge storage space that you can walk into. Needless to say, by the time I'm through I have gotten a pretty good work out for the back, legs, arms and just about everything in between. Of course it would be nice to do this only once in the season, but we have to pull down the storage bins, so my bride can decorate, this takes about a week. Then I have to put the storage bins back because they take up too much room to leave out. After the season, they all have to come back down for reloading, then back into the attic. In my bride's defense, though, when we don't have the kids coming to Christmas,we don't decorate, we sort of become those people who don't celebrate the season.

So Saturday morning I put on my sweatshirt and sweatpants and started hauling it all into the attic. My bride made one appearance to inform me that the bin that I was holding had clasps that would prevent it from spilling. We did not exchange words, we merely looked at each other and she said, "well do it the way you want to, I was just telling you." I have long held that you can tell me what to do, or how to do it, but not both. At the end of the event, though, she was very appreciative, so it all worked out for the best.

We ate lunch and got ready for the rest of the day, which included dinner at my son's house. My bride has figured out that it is best not to tell me how many stops we have between here and there. More than two and my ears stop listening and my head sinks to my chest. Errands are the anathema of my weekends, regardless of how necessary they are. So we headed out towards Container Store, and points north.
Usually my son and D-i-L are pretty good about just saying when we get near call them, then just come on by. But Saturday our son kept being vague about when we could come on over. Now, he is by nature vague, but in this instance it was out of character. So we kept calling, and he kept stalling until late afternoon.

Finally we got the come on over signal and we pulled up to the house, gathered all the stuff we were supposed to bring and rang the doorbell. The door opened and we were greeted with a throng of kids (both daughters, son and D-i-L) plus THE GRANDKIDS! ALL OF THEM! Eli and Phoebe and Lincoln, all in one place, all at the same time. I remember Miss Phoebe Mae squealing, "Shurprish! Shurprish!" and dancing from one foot to the other. Nena (my bride) was stunned. We waded right into a maelstrom of hugging grandkids and kids. What a great surprise. Apparently my kids had cooked this up earlier in the week and kept it very quiet. I'm a little concerned that my kids all get along so well that they can, with great success, plot against their mother and myself with such ease.

But this memory gets filed with so many others. It still surprises me that the kids would go to this effort to surprise us, to make us happy. It was an unadulterated success. So what happens to these memories? They make up so much of our lives. They are in some part our entire anthology. We are our memories. I have no idea what heaven will be like, but I hope we get to keep our memories, especially the good ones, the ones that filled us with warmth, that brought us to happy tears. I wonder if part of our "worship" in heaven will be the eternal keeping of these memories. Memories created by a loving God to give his creation a sense of belonging, a sense of right-ness with those around us who matter. What if at that moment we get to remember all the events that made us who we are..first kiss, first dance with a lover, holding our little ones for the first time, moments of intense belonging, last kiss, last hug, last "I love you", a moment of never forgetting, of eternal remembering. Sounds like heaven to me.

Each day is a surprise, a treasure of memories, a glimpse of fleeting rapture. Memories..like so much thread woven into the fabric of our lives.

Godspeed to the travelers on this journey. Make this a season of eternal memories. Tis the season..indeed.
Don

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Faith Communities...Or Church

Last night I was organizing and filing away all my papers and lesson plans from my second tour of duty in college. There is some great stuff there, but who needs the papers that I wrote, with all the professor's red marks and comments? Not me. So I was throwing away a bunch of stuff and glancing through notes I made to see if there was anything of value, when I came across this quote, "The Church of Christ is gone forever, all we have left are museums." In my usual meticulous fashion I didn't write down the author of the quote, but I wondered what had led him/her to that conclusion? I think we have all had days where we would agree, but as I pondered this quote a couple of things came to my mind.

I'm currently in a group that is doing the preliminary work of visiting with men who have a desire to serve as elders/shepherds/spiritual leaders of the congregation where we are attending. The group developed a set of questions and the one that I always get to ask is, "As one who will be responsible for the spiritual development of the members, what does that look like? What are the ingredients of that process?" Ummm, let's see, ummm. Wow, what a good question. Does it not bother anyone else that we don't even think in those terms? Shouldn't a spiritual leader be able to articulate a process? These men have all raised children to adult believers, wasn't there some reflection on what this looks like? Shouldn't we all have an internal process that we can articulate about our own development? This lack of focus bothers me.

If we don't have men leading us who have a clear concept of spiritual formation, how can we develop a community of faith that exhibits "informed judgement"? You see, I think the church should be a community of people who see things as they truly are and can articulate the truth, both ancient and modern. Instead, we have men and women who are stuck in a particular theological spot, and seem quite happy to stay there. Consequently we have churches that seem to settle back instead of being a continuing force in the world around them. I used to think that the reason the christian movement has lost its' way is because we have lost the desire to evangelize. In reality, I think the words of a preacher friend of mine captures the real problem, "I'd rather catch 'em, than clean 'em" Spiritual development is hard work, it is long-term, and it frequently is disappointing. So we would rather develop programs than people, we would rather build an organization than feed an organism.

It would do my heart a lot of good, if someone would spend 20 minutes explaining to me the ideas they have about spiritual formation, and have to be cut off at that. I think this is the very reason that very small groups work so well. A lot of spiritual formation is mentor/protege, mature leading immature along the path, You can't do this with 75 people, or even 30. And if you want to develop leaders it is almost a one-on-one deal. Spiritual formation is not a 4-year degree, it is a life long journey, pulling along those that follow.

If you have thoughts about this, I would love to hear them. I have a fairly developed view of this, but am always looking to add to the arsenal.

Museums tend to be visited a lot, but not habitat ed. Could this be what the author meant? Could it be that because we don't see the true value of spiritually forming people that the church has become a collection of ancient and quaint ideas and doctrines? Are we now in a spot where the true church is a "remnant" rather than a community? Questions on questions.

Godspeed, let me know.
Don

Friday, December 11, 2009

Christmas is Coming!

My bride and I have entered into a very interesting time in our journey. Our kids are all grown, have all gotten off my payroll, found wonderful mates, and begun producing some of the finest grandkids ever..Each of our kids chose to ignore our advice, marry an orphan. They all chose to marry people from big families, with holiday traditions and holiday plans. So, my bride and I have to accommodate to holidays where we either have the entire crew (what we refer to as the "good" holiday) or have a much quieter holiday (what we refer to as the "sucky" holiday) The quiet holidays are actually not that bad. We get some time to do some things and spend time with people we might not normally visit.

And with all that said, this is our "good" Christmas. All the kids and kids-in-laws and grandkids are headed our way. Now let me tell you a little about my bride, this chick LOVES holidays..all of them. She sends care packages to the grandkids for Valentine's Day with red and white M&Ms. She sends a care package on July 4th, birthdays, graduations, Thanksgiving. But her favorite, by far - not even close, is Christmas. She has, over the years, collected an impressive assortment of snowmen. We pulled all this down from the attic the week of Thanksgiving and before I knew it we had an entire battalion of snowmen camped on the hearth, awaiting their posting, some to the mantle, some to shelves, some just posted randomly around the house. It is not uncommon to find a snowman still at his post in mid-March. Sort of like those Japanese soldiers they used to find on those little atolls in the Pacific, not knowing if the war was over, but thrilled to be found and sent home.

So my bride loves everything about the event, the shopping, the planning, the anticipation. The only thing that makes her cranky is my lower key approach to the entire event. Now, don't get me wrong, I love Christmas, but the comparison to the level of enthusiasm as compared to my bride gets me branded as a Grinch. Comparing our attitude towards the holiday is like comparing my golf game to Tiger Wood's (although with his distractions right now I might could make a game of it) I love the time together, the memories that this holiday throws off like so much confetti, the food, the laughter, the good tears, the hugs, the snuggling, and simply the time together. It is the realization that time is not on our side, the Christmases left are fewer than the ones ahead.

So here is to those who find the joy in the season whether as the Christmas believer or the anywhere along the spectrum. And especially to my bride..the greatest gift of my life, thank you for being you.

Godpeed
Don

Saturday, December 5, 2009

How sad..but not uncommon

I have followed with interest the travails of Tiger Woods this week. So much prestige, so much pride, so much entitlement, swirling the drain. Even in his "apology" he is pointing fingers, lashing out at the same media that made him what he is. I tell myself often, and anyone else who will listen, a true and sincere apology comes with no caveats. "I am sorry." Period. No "but" after the first three words. I am sorry, truly spoken, focuses the blame on me, not the victim, not the ones who ferreted out the truth...me. This is, by far, the hardest apology to make. To stand before the one whom you have injured and open the heart and soul to the one who has been harmed and wait for the judgement that is due.

We live in a society that lives vicariously through the famous, the glamorous, the fortunate. We hang on their words (regardless of the validity of those words) We buy their stuff, we tell them in ways big and small that they are the reality of our world. I was tickled to hear Seinfeld say in a roast one time that he is stunned that people listen to actors at all. "They are told where to stand, what to say, and how to say it. Then we give them a microphone and hang on their very words." How true.

So how did this happen? How can a guy with so much to lose, act so recklessly? Logically you would have to say that he wasn't thinking, at all. He disregarded not only the common-sense decisions, he disregarded the moral and ethical decisions as well. You can blame it on entitlement, maybe he just felt like he was impervious to any consequences. Perhaps the blame is on the system, it wasn't his fault. Oh wait, maybe he is sick, addicted to love, so to speak.

Over the years I have been able to observe men who suffered a "moral breakdown" Some of these guys I knew, some I observed from a little distance, and some I observed through the lens of the popular media. I believe there is a single common theme to all these failures. Putting it simply, I think they did not have any advisor in their life that they admired more than themselves. You see when a man sees himself as the ultimate authority he can rationalize anything. I deserve the extra money, she doesn't appreciate me the way this new person does, no one else understands. We can talk ourselves into anything. I have been fortunate to have other men in my life who I admired more than I admire my version of myself. The first is my dad. I have never met anyone with more personal integrity than he has. I have never known him to lie, either verbally or emotionally. He instilled deeply in me the importance of truth, to myself and to others. So early on I had a man in my life who thought it worthwhile to teach me honesty. Then as the years rolled by other men came into my life who took the time and effort to teach me the importance of living a life of integrity. Even today, I have a few men who watch my life and call my hand on moments when I seem to be wandering off base.

You see when men who have a level of celebrity morally fail, it points to lack of accountability that we need as men. But that accountability has to be with men we admire more than we admire our vision of ourselves. This episode may well cost Tiger more than money, or his prestige, or his family. It may well cost him his deluded picture of himself. He needs to find someone he admires, not because they make more money (few do) or because they are a better athlete, or because they share a similar spotlight, but because they have shown the ability to live a life of integrity, whatever the cost.

Accountability is an awesome word. It is a word that compels us to open our lives up to inspection, to open our thoughts and actions up to a higher power.

Tiger failed because he did not value the need to find a man who could tell him his life was on a path of destruction. How sad...but not uncommon.

Godspeed out there guys..find a spiritual exemplar, it is almost impossible without them.
Don

Friday, November 27, 2009

Lost Maples...


Sometimes an unexpected turn in the road surprises us with the greatest gifts. There was a group of us who wanted to take a trip, we didn't know where, but all of us being empty-nesters, we decided to take a car trip. After much research and debate, and a casual comment by my bride about "Lost Maples" we formed up plans. We decided on the weekend before Thanksgiving, probably because some of us had family duties. There was only one scheduling hitch that came late and entailed a late night drive with us guys, but other than that it was a good plan.

As the weekend unfolded it became evident that we had all been under some stress or other because we simply wanted to veg. No plans, no agendas, no appointments. We drove to Austin on Friday night, stayed in a hotel, got up the next morning and hunted for a Panera Bread (my favorite and no luck) a Starbucks (second choice, but no luck) and found a La Madeleine (good choice and good food and good coffee) We ate and headed out for Leakey (good luck finding it on the map, it ain't very big) The drive took us through Johnson City, where we found a nice little winery call Texas Hills with a pretty good cab and a recipe for "mulled" wine, sort of a cider, but made with Merlot..tasty. Then we drove quickly through Fredericksburg and headed for Kerrville. We ate at a place that had originally started out life as a train depot. I had an "Axis" burger, which I assumed was a derivative of the Axis deer, not a statement about the WWII enemy alliance. Good burger, though, with great blue cheese.
Then we settled in for the last leg of the journey to Leakey and the cabin/house we had rented on the Frio river.
There is not a direct route from here to there in that part of the country. You either have to go around a mountain, or to the next river crossing, or find a road that goes all the way through, not many did. But we finally arrived at our destination and it was great. No one around, quiet, cool, late-in-the-day settling time. My buddy Doug went down to the river to fly-fish. He waded to the best looking fishing holes, but did make the comment that they don't call it the Frio for nothing..it was COLD! I pulled out my little spinning reel, made a couple of tosses and lost interest, apparently about a day after the fish had lost interest. So I headed back to house to cook dinner, somewhere in the past couple of decades I decided I would rather cook than fish.
Dinner with close friends may be the best tonic for our high-velocity lives. Banter and jokes, insight and shared troubles, concern for kids and grandkids all flow around a good meal. Breaking bread together is truly a spiritual experience.
Drove deep into the night to pick up the last member of our little band, then back to the cabin around 2AM.

Woke up at 6:30. ready to roll, my bride does not find this endearing. I am somewhat of an extrovert and when I'm up I really look forward to visiting with someone...anyone...even those who would rather be asleep...

What a great Sunday. I had a nap...wait, not just a doze, a real, everyone left the room and me alone, 2 hour dead-to-the-world nap. The wake up disoriented kind of nap. Refreshing and deep..now where did everyone go? I need to tell someone!

Steaks on the grill, a good cabernet, recycling the day. Memories with people who you love.

Our only agenda item for the weekend (a nod to our planner, Janet) was to visit Lost Maples State Park. Breathtaking, particularly the long hikes.
This is my favorite picture of the bunch...my bride and I amongst the lost maples.


Lost Maples..lost weekend.. rediscovered sanity.

Godspeed out there, get a little lost every once in a while. It does the soul good.
Don

Monday, November 16, 2009

18 inches of attitude

Not long ago my bride and I drove north to Lewisville to visit our newest grandson, and of course his parents. As we blasted north we were able to legally participate in the traffic phenomenon known as the HOV lane..high occupancy vehicle. Now, I'm not sure you could really describe two people in a blazer as "high occupancy" We had plenty of room for another two or three. Of course if you were able to squeeze in four or five more, now that would be high occupancy.

Anyway, early in entering the HOV lane the traffic in the regular lanes were moving at the same speed as those of us fortunate to have a travel companion. This was annoying. Why have a lane just for those of us who could cultivate and keep relationships and then move along at the same speed as the loners? Then the most marvelous thing happened, traffic in the regular lanes slowed down! Yes! Now we really have something. With my nose just a little higher in the air, I could really scoot by those lonely suckers in the other lanes.

So we blasted along, smug in our HOV-ness. Going through downtown Dallas the HOV lane disappears. We have been funneled into the crowd. How can it be that one minute you are flying along as one of the privileged, then due to some stupid striping machine you are just another car in a long line of other cars. Eighteen inches separated the attitude of privilege from the beaten masses.

Of course I have been on the other side of the line far more than the privileged side. For years I commuted from south of Dallas to north of Dallas, every day, one hour each way, by myself, hoping that those snobs in the HOV lane would run into a bottleneck and have to watch the rest of us creep by on the right. It would make my day to watch them fume as I slowly drove by, rarely able to hide my smirk.

You see, the attitude is not really on one side of the line or the other. The line is in our head. We divide into people into groups and decide which ones we will feel superior over. In reality circumstances decide when we are privileged and when we are common. We move back and forth over that line as easily as we do when in a car and the line is just so much lead paint on the tarmac. It is always good for me to have to drive on both sides and be disappointed when I realize that the lanes can slow and I can decide how I will handle it.

Boy, if you really want to get me started let me tell you what I think about the grocery store lines.

Godspeed.
Don

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

This Will Hurt Me More Than You..Or Not

My posts rarely reference a work situation, mainly because I have no idea who reads this blog, and I don't want to create problems at work. With that said, there are situations that we have to deal with at work that reflect our approach to all the different threads in the fabric of our lives.

I had to let a guy go yesterday that I genuinely liked. He was not a particularly good seller, he had a lot going on in his life, and he still didn't get it. But it kills me to intentionally hurt someone. Oh, I can come up with all the rationalizations for the move, his performance affects a lot of people, he had plenty of warning, it was best for the company, blah, blah, blah. The end result is that a guy now has to deal with the big question of "how do I find another place to work in this sorry economy."

As I sat there and explained the rationale, all I could see was the stunned, hurt look on his face. The emotions ran from disbelief, to sadness, then to anger. The feeble attempt to defend himself, his numbers, his action or lack of action were all in vain. But in the end, he just got up and walked away. I felt like a heel.

There is a tendency to assign poor motives to the other person. To make him understand that it was his lack of knowledge, lack of ability, his laziness, whatever that led to this. But somewhere back in my past, it occurred to me that the moment of termination there lies a truism that as his boss I failed. My job in the purest sense is to maximize the talents of those around me, and in this case I didn't do that. It became easier to simply let him go than go through the arduous task of retraining him. I am jealous of those people who can assign blame outside themselves. At some level, this was my fault, along with his. But the suffering will be born by him alone.

So this morning I got up, spent a little extra time in my disciplines, prayed for someone who truly hates my guts at the moment, and ran to the nearest Panera for a bagel and coffee. The really sad part is that now I can move on, still employed, rested from my disciplines...with only a lingering regret. We are a truly perverse animal.

Godspeed. I think I better find someone to be nice to today
Don

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

It Is Raining

In Texas for the past few months it has been raining. Oh I don't mean the little thundershowers we used to get in Houston everyday, at 2PM, for 22 minutes, which ratcheted the humidity from 95% to 100%. I mean the clouds settling in for days and the rain just comes down. When the sun finally peeks out, it is like walking out of a movie theater from an afternoon matinee. You can't squench your eyes tight enough.
We have definitely had our share of rain.

But this is not the rain I speak of. For months my bride and I have been in deep, intense prayer for each of our children. It is one of those moments where each one had situations in their lives that preoccupied our minds and drove us to our knees in prayer. There were days where I walked around and pleaded with God to resolve this situation or that. Now I know where the caricature of an old man puttering around in his life..muttering. He is praying, constantly, incessantly, asking for some resolution, some small answer to his life's questions over which he is powerless. The rain that I speak of is when God decides to answer the prayers.

I don't know the ins and outs of God's wisdom. He says that our ways are not His ways, that our thoughts are not His thoughts. So I know that there may never be a full understanding of what He does and when and how and why. Here is what I do know. Sometimes He answers all our prayers at once. It is like He keeps placing answers in a big bucket, then at a time of His choosing, he just dumps it out on our lives. Drenching us from head to foot in His blessings. This tends to leave us stunned and in tears, speechless and overwhelmed. At least it does me.

So the other day, in the least likely place I can imagine, He decided to answer. I was sitting in my rent car, having just completed a rather contentious conference call with a customer, when one of my kids called and told me God's answer to almost two years of constant prayer. This on the heels of answering a month of agonizing prayer for our new grandson, and following 20 years of prayer for our oldest. AS I gazed at Camel Rock formation in Northern New Mexico, my eyes blurred and my throat constricted, and my faith regenerated. It rained blessings on a sometimes stubborn, hard to deal with servant in the middle of no where. And so I responded in the only true masculine way I could..I cried, deep, grateful, overwhelmed tears. He rains blessings, I rain tears.

Now the sun is out. The blessings continue to flow, the spiritual earth around me is vibrant again. The spring rains of God's blessings has revitalized the spiritual landscape. God is good..all the time..God is good.

Godspeed. Enjoy the rain, it cools and refreshes the spirit.
Don

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Las Vegas...not my kind of town

I have never really figured out what trade shows are for. You spend a lot of money to fly your people in, you set up a booth, you wine and dine the customers, and at the end you still have to get up every morning, and go see your customers at their place to get the orders.
And I especially don't get the fascination with Las Vegas. It is a desert city that was started for the sole purpose of wrangling the last few dollars out of some poor GI's pocket. Of course, the GI's who came here in the 1940's wouldn't recognize it. The city is huge, the old strip is about gone. But the decadence is as real as ever. This city truly represents all that I find detestable. It is a city based on greed, and perverse power, the evil is almost palpable.
Yet the 3rd grade teachers from Fargo and Clovis and Abilene flock here, insurance salesmen, dock workers, postal clerks, all come to drop their hard earned money in this city that takes every human inclination to the extreme. I wonder what the carpenter turned rabbi would say to all this?

After we put up the booth and ironed the samples and had a few short meetings, everyone was ready for lunch. So we found a sport's grill just off the casino and all 10 of us ordered our lunch. We were sitting at a round table, which looked out over the casino floor. I was sitting facing the casino, and just visiting with my coworkers. Just about the time everyone was seated, a young "showgirl" climbed on top of the bar in the casino, in a revealing outfit and began to sing a popular tune. The guys at the table all turned and watched. I know this is not the worst activity that a young lady can involve herself in in Vegas. I know there are several hundred explanations for this taking place. But somewhere in the past few years I crossed over a line. I can't watch a young lady doing something like that with out wondering to myself, "I wonder what her daddy would say?" All women under 40 now fall into what I generally consider my daughters. When I see them in a situation that would make me cringe to see my girls in, it makes me sad to wonder what happened. Did he not care? Did he abuse? Could he not stop this?

You see, my life is filled with a wife and daughters and daughter-in-law who have fought some tough battles, have been disappointed and hurt, who could have taken an easier road. But they didn't. They are married to men who cherish them for their worth as people. They are not self-centered, but are compassionate. Did I have something to do with that? Some. Am I proud of them..intensely. But it upsets me to realize that the demarcation is very thin between daddies who cherish their daughters and give them a fighting chance, and daddies who paved the road to humiliation and hurt with their abuse or neglect or their own personal battles with control.

Yes, I hate this place. I hate it that I'm not home with my youngest and her little one still in NICU. I hate it that the little money I spend here is used to further this illusion of "fun". I hate it that so many daughters are used and abused here, and apparently their daddy can't do anything about it.

Godspeed, sometimes the journey takes us through a particularly ugly stretch of the trail.
Don

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

On The Road Again

This week put me on the road again. And unlike Willie, I could have waited to get on the road again. This week is Phoenix and El Paso, then Albuquerque. Seeing people who are customers, listening to their complaints (unfortunately, most are legit) trying to build the brand, develop customer loyalty, riding with reps, hauling bags from one airport to another. Let me just say that those of you who follow this blog, but basically stay at home, this is not as glamorous as it looks.

For instance, I took American Airlines to Phoenix, completely full flight. Previewed our line to a major customer, then took the bag and hopped on a Southwest (or Southworst) flight to El Paso. Only an hour, no biggie. For the first time EVER my boarding pass said I was the lead cow for the cattle call, that's right A-1. Of course there were 5 or 6 blue-haired pre-boards, and about 10 crew headed back to El Paso, or Dallas or wherever, but other than that small group of 15 or so, I was first. So, being the seasoned traveler I am, I passed on all the seats at the front and headed for the Exit row, more leg room, I can actually get out my laptop and work without fear that the guy in front of me will tilt his seat all the way back and sever my spleen. Stowed my stuff and waited and hoped that everyone would understand good airline etiquette and sit somewhere else.
The flight filled up, and just at the end a rather large man asked if anyone was sitting in the middle seat in the exit row. Brain racing for way to say "yes" this seat is taken, but nothing came to mind, mumbled my "no" pasted a smile on my face, as he dumped his two bags into the seat and onto the floor.
Now the maneuvering begins. I'm on the aisle, but managed to claim both armrests. He finally seated himself, realized there was no room on either side for his arms, so he folded them across his chest. He is much taller than I am, so now I realize I am sitting under his armpit, it is hot there. So the dilemma begins. Can I hold my real estate for the 1 hour 13 minute flight? Do I want to? Now his knee is edging over into my space, do I nudge him back into his allocated space? So I spend the flight trying to give him as much space as possible, while trying to keep my space relatively intact. Forget the laptop, I was afraid to move in case he homesteads the rest of my seat. The final insult came as we were de-planing, I saw his baggage claim check and he had B-13 as his boarding number. A-1 had to put up with a B-13. This is just not right.

Pretty glamorous stuff this travel. Meanwhile I fret and pray over my grandson in NICU, my kids and of course my bride. Being on the road gives me too much time to let my imagination run, to feel helpless about the truly important events. Big guys and small seats are just a part of life.
As my bride will probably tell me, "get over it"
But I reserve my God-given right to complain about it.

Anyway, Godspeed out there.
Don

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

One More Step

It seems there are times when everything goes right. The parking places are close to the door and don't carry the handicap icon, the customer is complimentary and loves doing business with you, the spouse is loving, the kids are all in a good spot. The stars are simply aligned and life is good.

Then there are times visited on your family where it is not the stars aligned, but all the crap the world can throw at you and yours is coming in faster and faster. My little corner of the world is going through this now. Each of my offspring is handling some really big, life changing, life altering stuff and each one seems to have these continuing little setbacks that are disheartening and frustrating.

There is a tendency to be a little philosophical, "God is testing me, teaching me." Or the other side of the coin, "Satan is testing me, teaching me." I think sometimes the crap just all hits at the same time. We can find hope or the strength to fight depending on where you think the crap is coming from, but in reality, these things just happen. I'm not saying I don't think God or Satan don't interact with creation, it just means that the world we find ourselves in dumps a lot of trauma on it, and surrounds us with people who bring us joy to deal with it all. If pushed, I would say that God is incredibly active in his creation, I'm just not sure he spends a great deal of time manipulating events so we won't have crap land on us. Scripture is full of quotes and stories that illustrate that we just have to understand the nature of this world and that we have to find a way to cope.

So here is what you do when overwhelmed with kids being sick, kids disappointed, kids frustrated and sad, grand kids having to learn life lessons when very young, spouses who are living "plan B"
You put your head down and take the next step. Let the blizzard blow, the sleet stings, the hands and feet are numb, you want to quit, you want to cry, you want to shake your fist at...what? The wind? The movement of the earth that causes blizzards?
You take the next breath, cling to the hands that you brought into the world, cling to your faith in these storms of life, and take one more step.

Remember that joy and family times and good food and laughter are going to come.

My bride and I raised fighters. You can knock them down, but you will not knock them out. They are made of much better stuff than that. And when it is all over they will still love people and each other, they will still make significant contributions, in the end they will outlast the storm, faithful, strong, and sure.

Godspeed to my kids and kids-in-law and my grandkids, the hill is a little steep right now, but we will overcome.
Don

Friday, October 9, 2009

It's My Job

Last night I was allowed the opportunity to hold my newest grandson for 30 minutes. He was still attached to the monitors, but most of the tubes were out, so I bundled him close and just talked quietly to him for a full 30 minutes. Most of the time he pretended to sleep, but I know he was listening. And he had to feel my heart thudding against his little "Spock" ear. He would occasionally stretch or draw in a little, I'm sure he was still sore from the surgery and the removal of his drain tube, but he and I got to visit for a bit. It was a moment where I got to put in a good word for his mom and dad, where I encouraged him to keep getting better and get out of there, where I told him what a fine young man he is going to become. But mostly, I jut held him and started the very strenuous task of spoiling him as only a grandaddy can.

I have decided that God built into his men the capacity to expand the devotion and spoiling factor for the men he chooses to be grandaddies. It is like some strange spring in our lives that just flows as new grand kids come along. The well-spring is activated by the tiny clasp of baby fingers around the weathered old fingers of their grandaddies (my kids refer to my hands as "cat pad" hands, but they don't complain when those hands hug and hold) When my oldest grandson was born I wondered if I would feel the same deep devotion to subsequent grandchildren. How can the heart expand to include them all in such a way? Surely I can only feel this deeply about the first one. But, to my surprise, that is not the case. Each one brings out this same feeling. Eli was first and is special to me in so many ways, Phoebe came along and won us all over with her love of life and food and apparently being photographed, now little Lincoln has caused us such anguish over his surgery, but we have all laughed at his little "worry" lines, I suspect he will be a serious child, but I love him and the others so.

And what of the ones to come? I know that, instead of pushing the others aside, they will build their own special place in my heart and my world. It doesn't matter if they are boys or girls, in the near future or distant, they will find their way into my life, deepening my prayers and causing me joy and tears and worry and fun and contentment with the decisions of my life that brought all this together.

It occurred to me that spoiling my grandchildren may the one thing that I am truly good at. My oldest daughter has told us that when she leaves her little ones with us it takes a week to "de-program" them when she gets them home. I can't tell you how proud I am of that accomplishment. That means I have done my job and done it well.

Godspeed to all there who are "spoilers" We have a big job to do, but are up to it.
Don

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Hospitals: Love 'em - Hate 'em

My bride and I had one of those moments on our anniversary night where we were in different places (she was driving home from the hops ital in her car and I was driving home in mine) We got home, she said, "Do you know what I was just thinking about?" And I said, "You were thinking the same thing as I was, that we have spent a lot of our hallmark moments in hospitals."
She said, "Yes, keeping vigil."
That word has resonated with me ever since. Keeping "vigil" is a primary parent function. And those vigil moments have been in hospitals all over Texas, from Dallas to Lubbock to Abilene. We are experts in hospital protocol.
So I have developed a list of observations about hospitals that I will share.

1. Hospitals are not designed to allow people any rest. People wandering around the hallways at all hours of the night, nurses coming in to take blood pressure, temp, jiggle the IV lines, turn on the lights, ask how you are doing. By the way, why do they ask how "we" are doing. Obviously she is doing better than the patient, she can come and go, she doesn't hurt, she can escape and get decent food, so half of us are doing fine, disproportionate to how lousy the other is doing. This very issue created the setting for my only real high-volume confrontation with someone I didn't know in the hallway of a hospital at 2AM, but that is another story for another time, but it is part of the Jolly lore.

2. Apparently, doctors and hospitals have a terrible time keeping a schedule. They are bright people, but something about that Dr complex thing makes them revert to 16-year-old girls and they begin to believe that the world spins on an axis that runs through their britches. Meanwhile, the family sits knotted up in concern over their loved one and agonize through the hours and days...waiting on someone to tell them what is going on. We waited for a day and half to find out when our new, little day-old grandson was going to have surgery. Really? Someone can't look at a Day-timer and tell us it ain't going to happen?!

3. Nurses either make or break the experience (sorry Docs) if the nurse is good, it is a great experience. I have watched all my kids face tough situations and have a good nurse make the experience bearable. On the other hand, a rude or pompous nurse can bring the blood to a boil in an instant. My newest S-i-L held his temper with enormous self-control, but I wondered how many rude health professionals each year get decked in the ICU.

4. There are some people who handle the entire vigil thing pretty well. The jolly clan tends to find moments of humor to help this along, but hospitals, by and large are dreary, cold places. Clean...but cold.

5. Whomever is responsible for designing furniture in hospitals has a mean streak. The chairs are monstrously uncomfortable, the "fold-outs" in the rooms for the loved ones keeping vigil are like sleeping on a poorly designed wooden pallet. The only place these folks could learn a thing or two is from the folks who design chairs at airports.

6 Finally, they are filled with sick people, everywhere you look someone is pushing one of those IV pumps up and down the floor. For the amount of money they will end up paying you should get a caddy.

I should be put on one of those committees that give input to hospital administration about making patient care better. I could share a thing or two.

Godspeed, stay out of those hospital zones.
Don

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Grandads' Conversation

This has been a week of looking ahead and staying in the moment. Anticipating the future of fun with a new grandson, and praying with all my might for his safety and recovery. A week of appreciating the skills of the surgeons and fretting about the lack of schedule and lack of communication from same.

After a couple of days of this, the other grandad and I found ourselves in the car picking up dinner and having a few minutes to visit. This is their first grandchild and, to some extent, the first time with a hospital emergency. It is hard to describe to someone who hasn't been there what this is all like.

So we talked about how proud we were of our kids, their resilience, their determination, their ability to handle the ups and downs, with good humor and unashamed tears. But we also talked about managing our emotions has been harder than we anticipated. I had been down that path several times, so when he said that he felt like bursting into tears at any given moment, I had to tell him it goes with the job. You see, you expend tremendous emotional energy into willing your child and grandchild to get better. You pray more deeply than you thought possible, and your love and care for your family comes boiling to the surface. On top of that, you don't sleep well, or at all. You eat infrequently, and all is tasteless and bland and feels like so much mud in your stomach that you decide it is better to not eat, than to undergo that unpleasantness. And your primary focus to try to be someone of stability in a world where stability and surety are non-existent.

But after thinking about this for 20+ years I think the hardest part for daddies and grandads is the helplessness. We are chartered with the job of caring and providing, of giving safe harbor in the storm of life, to be the positive answer man for the clan. But we are thrust into the position of not knowing, and worse, not having the ability to "fix" anything. We can't protect as we always have, we can't control the outcome, and to add insult to injury, we can't even control our emotions. This is the last straw. It is embarrassing and it publicly displays our pain, frustration, and our fear.

I hope when I get to whatever Heaven is, there is a Q and A for those of us who spent our time on earth asking questions. I anticipate that there will be at least a couple of big groups already assembled. One will be a group of guys around Adam reminding him what poor "scene control" he exhibited in the early chapters of Genesis. Really, the best you could come up with was, "The woman you gave me..."
Of course the other large group will be women with the Apostle Paul cornered somewhere and demanding an explanation about their "voice" in the church. I can hear him now, "THAT is NOT what I meant!!" Good luck with that Paul, it has never worked for me.
But here is my question: Lord, why did you charter me with the task, the responsibility to raise my children, to care for them and protect them from what the world will try to do to them, to make sure they are balanced, mature, caring people..then strip me of the power to accomplish the task? If I can't keep disease and violence, emotional trauma, and can't remove fear from them, how can I do my job? Why give me a tender heart, crying eyes, and threadbare faith as weapons against evil and pain and death? This does not seem like a fair fight.

So I told my grandad partner that the best we can do is be strong in our faith, both in God and our kids. That we need to be honest about our feelings, but remember that the primary concern is the little grandson, taped and tubed and struggling like a little warrior to get better. To not spend our time analyzing ourselves, but to analyze how we can help, how we can lend a hand (as pitiful as it seems at times) to those around us. That while we would like to run and hide, we never have before and we won't start now. He is a good man, probably better at this than I was the first time around. He knew all this and listened and put up with my pontificating with patience. The worst of the storm is over, relief is beginning to stick its head out. We will see what happens.

Questions and answers. I've got more of the former than the latter.

Godspeed out there.
Don

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

He's Here! But Wait..

What a roller-coaster day.
WE welcomed into this world our third grandchild. Lincoln Neill Nimz was born at 12:20PM, he was a modest 6lbs. and 14 ozs., 18 inches long and cute little pointy ears, and an esophagus not connected to his stomach. Joy and high-fives, followed by dread and concern and a weeping daughter. Hopes buoyed up as the doctors explained the possibilities and the remedies, and that old, familiar dread in the pit of the stomach and the heaviness in the chest that things rarely turn out as they should. It occurred to me that I and my bride have spent far too much time in hospitals trying to parse the words of doctors and learning a new vocabulary, words we would rather not know. Veterans now of what needs to be done. Knowing that my bride will not eat while the crisis is acute, and I will not sleep until we know the future.

And so we drop into the familiar battle speak, reading each other like old warriors, knowing when she is close to the edge and her understanding the same. A bond with her that will never be shared with anyone else. We are like the old Roman soldiers, testing the wind, clenching our hands around the swords of prayer and feeling close against our chests the shield of faith. And knowing that our back is held by the other.

Now we have a new little guy to pray over. We are suffering through the delay of not holding him close, feeling deeply the disappointment of our youngest not getting to hold her first one moments after birth. But this will all pass, we will see it through.

My question is how do we fall so deeply in love with someone whom we have just met? How is this possible? The tears of my daughter bring me to tears, but under it all I know she will persevere, she is made of stern stuff, as is her mother and her sister and her brother. But how can I have the same confidence in the new little guy. My bride reached into the little bed and seemed to be imparting the stuff he needs. The vision of my bride's hand covering his entire back in a soothing caress is etched forever in my mind. I could almost hear her cooing the sounds of encouragement, of love.

So the doctors are positive, the grandparents will dig in and do what it takes and, last but not least, God is faithful. He will deliver us and little Lincoln.

Godspeed on the journey, while often difficult, it is never boring. And, man, you should see that little guy, he is a doll.
Don

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Lessons Learned

A couple of lessons I thought I had mastered were reinforced yesterday while traveling to the City of Angels.

Lesson One: No kind deed goes unpunished.
I was booked in, settled in, strapped in and the flight attendant wanders down the aisle and is looking for someone to trade seats with a lady traveling with a small dog. She was in 3F, no under seat storage, I was in 5E, plenty of under seat storage. Apparently the mutt can't travel in the overhead bins. My hearing is diminishing just a bit, particularly on crowded airplanes and malls (this is why I can't hear my bride in the mall when she points out something she likes, I'm not ignoring, I can't hear) So I made the first tactical error by asking the flight attendant to repeat what she said..which forced us to make eye contact...which narrowed the conversation to just her and me..drat. Seeking to be an accommodating business traveler instead of what my youngest calls "those arrogant business men" I volunteered. Second tactical mistake, not checking who was in the seat beside me. The best description of my physical shape is that I am slightly "fluffy" as my D-i-L calls it, I prefer stocky. The guy next to me was, well, super-sized. Okay, in first class, not that big of a deal, but he did spill over into my side of the armrest. All through the flight I kept remembering the turf battles in the car with my two older brothers. "He's on my side!" "Am not!" "The line is right here" (drawing an imaginary line on the car seat)
I'm surprised my little sister was born with us three boys as the precursor. I wonder why we never took family vacations.hmm. Anyhoo, I kept my chagrin to myself and in a good-humored fashion took my seat...settled in, strapped in, ready to go.
Thus comes the second part of my mistake, the guy has a very ragged and constant cough. You know, the ones that seem to start deep in the chest and burst forth, causing all in range to duck and cower. No attempt to cover his mouth, no apologies, nada. Dude, I haven't gotten my annual flu shot, the H1N1 doesn't even come out for a month. I'm doomed. Next time the mutt can ride on the wing for all I care. Chances are they won't visit me in the hospital anyway. I'm telling you, being accommodating is overrated.

Lesson Two: Know your current events/people.
One of the other first class passengers was apparently a star of some sort. He and his 10-year-old kid had come to Dallas to see the Cowboy/Giants game (they were Giant's fans, I don't blame them after having to hear Jerry Jone's blather all year)
AS people filed on the plane, they kept trying to take his picture with their cell phones. This guy was right behind me, and I could not place his name. He looked vaguely familiar, but I had nothing. Finally, someone pointed out that he was on an HBO series called "Entourage" Okay, cool, I'm on a journey called life, let's give each other a break. This is not, however, my first time being clueless in the face of notoriety.
Several years ago I was flying on SW to Houston on some business deal and standing next to me in line was a tall, distinguished gentleman and his wife and I guess an aide of some sort. People kept looking past me at him and whispering. Finally, I turned to the guy and said, "You know, you look familiar, do I know you?" I thought his wife was going to hurt herself to keep from laughing. He replied, "I'm Lloyd Benson..." Oh yea, politician of some sort. So I made the only response I could, "Nice to meet you, I'm Don Jolly" At this point the aide was blocking the lane to prevent me from driving to the basket. My bride and kids have laughed about my obtuseness in the event for years. I have got to start watching TV instead of writing at night, I have no clue what is going on.

Well, on to other lessons.
Check your options before volunteering.
Cover your mouth.
Say, "Excuse me" when you have exposed others to a deadly illness.
Be kind to dogs...even little ones.
Read popular literature every once in a while.
Be cool around celebrities.
Leave your cell phone in your pocket...give the guy a break.
Man, there are a lot of lessons.

Godspeed,
Don

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

5 Issues

If you keep up with this blog you know I am in the midst of reading Foster's book Celebration of Discipline. I am now on the chapter on "Prayer" This time through I have decided to slow down and spend an extra week on it.
Below are 5 reasons why:

1. Prayer is the most overused, under-utilized discipline. We toss the phrase around to mean several different things from "I'm praying for you" means "I'm thinking about you." to "I'll pray for you because obviously you can't get out of the mess you are in with out me praying" No one intercedes like me.

2. I have stopped making lists. If I'm not deeply affected by what's going on in your life, that a list will help remind me, then someone who really cares for you needs to be doing the praying. Guess what? I don't need a list to pray for my bride or my kids or their kids. They all have enough in their lives that keeps me in constant prayer. People, events, circumstances are all important enough that a list is superfluous. Plus it is one more thing I have to keep up with.

3. It is much easier for me to teach about prayer, read about prayer, discuss prayer, think about prayer...than to pray. There would be a lot more good done in the Kingdom if we tossed the experts and simply prayed. What if our spiritual leaders simply looked at an issue, shrugged and said, "We'll pray over it, but right now and perhaps forever, we have no clue." There is great wisdom in confessing lack of knowledge.

4. Scripture is terribly inconsistent about prayer. The only aspect where scripture stays constant is the directive to do it. Do we pray for trivia? or do we wait until the prayer has substance? The case can be made either way.

5. Prayer is the one discipline that has brought me the greatest comfort and insight and provided the greatest test to my faith. I have felt God fold me close, and I have endured the thundering silence of unanswered prayer. Frankly, I find this frustrating.

If anyone out there on this journey would like to respond the floor is yours. I will write more later as I find my way through the chapter..again.

Godspeed
Don

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Boot Camp

This is a story I wrote for our friends a couple fo years ago.
By the way, I still work out a couple of times a week, even on the road, so I guess it was not all that bad..enjoy.


Boot Camp
Reservations

I haven’t fully decided if our best friends are trying to help us or kill us. As an anniversary gift this past year they decided to give each other joint sessions with a fitness trainer. Beverly and I listened to them talk about which muscles were sore, which were fine, which ones they didn’t realize they had. We took it all in good stride, never really even talking about it between us. But then their “gift” took an ominous turn. They said the fitness club was going to have an eight week “boot camp.” Would we like to join?
Okay, I’m pretty much on board with anything folks want to do, but this had several drawbacks. Number one was that I hadn’t been in a gym in years. I travel a lot and use the hotel “fitness centers” about three times a week, but it is really just to relax a little, spend 30 minutes on a stationary bike, stretch a little and go eat. It reduces stress, doesn’t make me sore, and deludes me into believing I’m doing something to stay in shape. But having a personal fitness guy looking over my shoulder and telling me what I’m doing wrong or should have been doing all these years…well, I have a boss, I don’t need another one.
Secondly, I was never the best athlete. I was pretty small in junior high and high school, so third string was about all that I could manage. 40 years later I suspect the group has not come back to me. Plus, I would be in this thing with at least two other women and probably more, but the number was a little vague. There is every possibility that I was going to be in with a number of women (my wife included) and might not even be in the top half of the class. Now this is not a huge concern, I’ve never desired to be the top in anything. I learned very early in life that if you bring home an A the first six weeks, you’ve set the bar too high. Growing up it became a fulltime job just managing my parent’s expectations. So I would ramp up from a C to an A over the course of the year. After 12 years in public schools they finally were able to enjoy the progress, and I had fewer and fewer “you can be whatever you want to be” lectures as time went on. This has become a tremendous skill in 30+ years of marriage.
Third, the “boot camp” was on Saturday mornings at 8AM. Who thought of this schedule? I’m not a late sleeper, but Saturdays are the only day of the week that I can be lazy. Plus this “boot camp” was going to seriously cut into my sex life. So let’s see, boot camp with pain and sweating or lazy morning with my sweet wife followed by coffee and breakfast and a newspaper? Hmmm.
Finally, tell me again what we are doing this for? They say you will look and feel better. Let’s be honest, looks aren’t going to get better for a 50+ year old guy. We have hit the age where something hurts all the time anyway, why risk making everything hurt? Besides, men my age are great self-deceivers. We look in the mirror, see paunch and handles, hair and splotches and are able to say, “You still got it” “you da’ man” “love machine” We know we aren’t like we once were, but it is okay. Women simply do not have it in their power to do this. My wife is lovely in every way, but she looks at herself in the mirror and obsesses over the part of her anatomy that she can’t even see, I just figure if folks aren’t happy with my backside, they can stop looking at it, she worries over hers. So what will this boot camp do for me? Make me look 52 instead of 53? Turn me into a guy that the young, attractive ladies will strike up a conversation with? As a hint guys, if a really young, hot lady starts hitting on you, it is either a sting operation, or she has mistaken you for someone with money, or has such epic emotional problems you don’t have the skills to deal with them. My advice is run as fast as your flabby, paunchy, hairy, aching body will take you. Well, at least I found a reason for the class.

Sign Up and Sign In

The initial conversation with the fitness trainer went fine. He said there was room for us in the camp. It concerned me a little that he said there would be some “tests” we would have to complete, so we needed to be there 20 minutes early. What tests? Multiple choice? True/False? Hey, give me essay, I’m a salesman, words are my friends.
So we show up early and “Sean” and “Utawna” (husband and wife, names were not changed, there are no innocents here) begin the paperwork and the “tests.”
Sean is a lean, almost wiry guy with very short hair, almost cut to the scalp making it hard to tell what color it might be. Wire-rim glasses, easy manner, covering a sadistic side that surfaces when he has us “fats” going through our paces. I bet he was picked on by guys with hair when he was in grade school. Utawna has short blonde, streaked hair; she is wearing those spandex outfits so popular with the female gym crowd. My guess is that the only bounce of a coin off her butt or abs would be the bounce in the coin. Of course the first thought I had was, “Are those real? Or bought?” My money is on bought.
As it turned out, the tests were fairly benign. We had to walk on a treadmill after taking heart rate resting and after 5 minutes, then we had to see how many push-ups we could do in a minute, then sit-ups. Which reminded me that when Bev and I were first married and for several years afterward she would do sit-ups everyday, hundreds of them, it made me a little queasy just to watch. I have never had 6-pack abs, mine are more keg-like. Then they used a caliper to measure body fat, I think I finally won a contest. I will say that I’m not sure they could have used a colder instrument. If they had been measuring something else, they could have used a much smaller caliper.

Camp

This reminds me of high school football. A bunch of people standing around, wondering who is the best athlete, who will be the surprise, who is the lagger. Now, of course the question may be, who will stroke first? Who will drop on their face, causing concern for the rest of us. I was a little dismayed to see a couple of young ladies, one young man, but encouraged to see some women who looked like the child-bearing years were tough on them, some guys who looked like me, a little embarrassed that we had let it go this far.
Then Sean began to explain the drill. Seven “stations” for one group, aerobics for the other group, then we would swap events. Bev and I were assigned to the “stations” group, along with Doug and Janet, one of the teeny-boppers, and a couple of the moms.
Here’s how this works. You spend one minute on each station, then shift to the next station with no rest between. The stations were lunges, and sit-ups on a big plastic ball, push-ups, modified push-ups on a bench (its too hard to explain, but it kills the little, hidden muscles in your arms) leg lifts, sitting position while holding a ball between you and the wall, one exercise at a machine that you pull towards your chest (sitting and pulling weights, that’s useful) and one station where you “jump” starting with one foot on the half ball and landing on the other side of the ball with the other foot on top of the ball. I just tried to act like a ninja jumping over the station, but I discovered that somewhere in the past 30 years my feet apparently had a falling out and weren’t speaking to each other. Of course the teeny-bopper was shooting off that thing. This looked like a hamstring pull waiting to happen. I stopped watching.
The real exercise is the mental work. How can I dog it on each of these stations with Sean standing right there staring at me? Well, the lunges were easy, I look like a goof just walking around, so I just exaggerated the look. The stations that were essentially standing or sitting were pretty easy to fake as well, it just looked like I had poor form. The push-ups are a little hard to fake, but I decided that if I just barely moved from the top of the push-up to the bottom, Sean wouldn’t know if I was on my way up or down. After all, he had to be watching the others a little didn’t he? Sitting and pulling the weights was tough to dog, I put more weight on than he suggested, but did fewer repetitions. Also, this station was right in the middle of the gym, Utawna and the girls could be watching.
Then we switched to aerobics. Let me just say that at the age of 53, there is simply not many things left in this life that I feel compelled to run away from. In my mind this is a mark of maturity. Apparently the creator of this boot camp comes from a long line of people being chased by large, savage critters. Utawna told us to either get on a treadmill or an elliptical. Aren’t there any other choices? We were going to start at a slight 5 degree incline, walking at a brisk pace. Okay, this is not so bad. Then she says, “When I say go, go as hard as you can for 30 seconds.” 30 seconds is not so bad, I can do anything for 30 seconds. GO! Ellipticals are like trying to climb stairs with ski poles, legs are pumping, arms are flailing, oxygen is sucked out of the room, clever trick. Now, slow down to your original pace, this is your restoration mode. Bad news, the slowdown pace is a challenge. Poor judgment on my part was to actually push as hard as I could for the 30 second sprint because I hear Utawna over the roaring in my ears, “we will do this 4 times!” Wanna’ bet? Let’s just say that the third and fourth sprints would have to be renamed.
We survive the eclipse (as in our lives being faded from view) machines and are returned to Sean for another round of his particular fun and I realize that Doug and Janet are trying to kill us. They are such conflict avoiders. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just say, “We want new friends, you guys are too old and cranky for us.” No, they choose to be diabolical. So instead of Colonel Mustard in the kitchen with a candlestick it is Dr. Doug in the gym on the elliptical. Did I win?
But wait, Utawna is not finished. She has a game she wants to go outside and play. It’s the beanbag game, and we pair up (I choose Bev, it is a winning combination for 30+ years) We run 30 feet, pick up the first of five beanbags and sprint back, drop the beanbag, spin around and go get the next one until they are all retrieved. All of sudden I hear coach in my head, yelling and telling us how slow we all are, and the last place guys will have to do it all over again. What was that called? Oh yeah, wind sprints, the scourge of high school football. And we are doing them at the end of practice. Man, I haven’t even thought about this in 35 years, another 35 would be too soon.
This I know how to do. Sprinting is an art form in sports. The first thing coaches work on is how to make small, white, slow kids a little faster. Nice forward lean, slide the feet along the ground, head still, good arm action, remember to breath. First set of sprints were fine, got beat by the teenybopper, no one else. Halfway through the second set of sprints I hear Utawna yelling, “Faster, faster, you can do it!” For a split second my eyes come up and see her standing there and I begin to measure my steps, like Bret Favre on a naked bootleg, plant my left foot, use the big muscles in the legs, hips, back, turn the hand out, producing a nice spiral of the beanbag, stick the thing right between implant-L and implant-R. Teenybopper could be in the way, Doug and Janet’s car right behind Utawna, this is what is known as a target rich environment.
But there is another problem. The oatmeal we had at 6:30AM is now threatening to make an appearance. This is not good. Oatmeal is unsightly when it is being served, I can’t imagine that it gets better 3 hours later after a heavy workout. Slow down! We can do this if I don’t push it. The heart is pounding, the stomach is trying to decide if it wants to unload. Utawna is yelling and telling me I have another gear. Listen lady, it’s not the transmission, but the fuel pump and exhaust system.

Cool Down

Made it. There is nothing left in the tank, total expenditure. Then I remember that we haven’t paid. I track down Utawna and ask her how much. She tells me and as I begin to write the check I realize my hands and arms aren’t really working all that well. The pen is in my hand, but the signature doesn’t look right. Their problem, not mine. Only seven more weeks of this.
I wonder what Doug and Janet’s back up plan is?

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Meditation - Spiritual Wondering

Last week I read the chapter on Meditation from Foster's book Celebration of Discipline several times. This is my third trip through this little book, but every time something surprises me. For a strongly extroverted guy (though over the last few years this seems to have been tempered a bit...wisdom maybe?) meditation is one of the disciplines that I have to really stay after. The art of driving deeper into the thoughts of God is at once fulfilling and frightening. But this time around the word that kept popping into my mind was "wonder."

Wonder is a word that eases the competition of what God is thinking. It is less trying to pry it out of the mind of God and more letting the revelation come to me. I have mentioned "thought strings" and I think this is the result of spiritual wondering. If you see God in a particular way, then what does it mean to pursue his take on events, on creation as we now move through it, what is the final destination and what does it look, feel, smell like? Can I be at ease about events around me? Does this discernment then drive me to any particular conclusions?

The quick answer is, I don't know. The longer answer is that discernment is not training, not skill, it is simply taking the time to sit and listen and wonder. But here is the problem in our society (even church society) we do not want to take the time. We prefer answers to realization. We prefer programs and process to enlightenment. Wisdom comes through time and a constant bending of our ear to God's quiet voice. Time wondering about God can't be scheduled, it can't be programed, and it certainly can't be fitted into a Day Timer.

Our world conspires to keep us from this moment. Our church world conspires to keep us from this moment. Deep, discerning people frighten even our church leaders. They simply don't know what to do with the "mystics" amongst us. To speak as one who has spent long moments with God is like loading down the conversation with enormous weight. Weight that slows the conversation and frustrates those who simply want to rush ahead and get things done. God does not work like that, his words, spoken in a quiet voice of conviction exposes agendas, motives, false thinking. It moves the conversation from project to providence. Have you ever noticed that when this happens, it is often not very many words? but words that each hit the very core of the moment?

This week is about prayer. The articulation of our wondering about God.

Godspeed to all the mystics out there.
Don

Monday, September 7, 2009

Canton...Not Hall of Fame

This past Saturday my bride and I along with our son and D-in-L went to First Monday Trade Days in Canton Texas. For the uninformed, this is billed as the largest flee market in Texas..maybe the US? or the world? I'm not sure. My bride goes every month as far as I can tell, I hit about every third or fourth trip. I am usually invited when there is a pretty good chance something will be bought that is too big for the ladies to load by themselves. As was the case this time. My Amarillo daughter bought a dining table and a sofa table last month that had to be produced. They made arrangements for me to go get it this month. We convinced our D-in-L that they needed to go, in case they liked the table and wanted one as well, which they did. Now, it occurs to me that I may have to go back next month and help with that table, this is serious error in judgement on my part.

We spent the night at our son's house and got up early for a breakfast stop at Panera Bread and a road stop at Starbucks. Fortunately they are right around the corner from each other. It would be nice in these shifting economic times if they would merge..Panera food and Starbucks coffee. Of course the way the world works we would get Panera coffee and Starbucks food..or 7-11 as we know it.
On the road and since I couldn't help but give directions, we took the wrong highway and my bride got to use her handy-dandy new I-phone to get us back on track. She and I are being dragged against our will into the 21st Century. But we did get to see some nice countryside we wouldn't otherwise have explored.

A little late to Canton and my bride a little anxious to get at all the stuff spread out on 25 or 30 acres. She is like a little kid at Christmas time, dancing on one foot then another trying to drag us along as quickly as possible to the first booth, then slowing to a snail's pace, or shopping mode, while the guys kind of stand around and wait for each booth to be examined, item by item. We hit one booth that had a lot of frill and lace and necklaces. I remarked to my son that aside from his bride and mine, there was absolutely nothing in that booth that I had an interest in. That did not prevent some of the Jolly household income from taking residence there.

What I didn't realize was that my D-in-L was on a mission as well. She was looking for 6 chairs that apparently the only criteria was that they did not match. There was other criteria, I just didn't know what it was. I am fairly certain that there was maybe 2,937 chairs that match the description of "kitchen" chairs and we inspected at EVERY one. Two were selected (talk about "few will be chosen") on opposite sides of the 30 acres. My son carried one of them from the opposite side of the park to the truck.. Awww young love.

So we chowed down on corny dogs and lemonades, then loaded the two tables, the two chairs, two old steamer trunks, a old iron bedstead my bride wanted for a guest room, and four hot, sweaty and shopping satisfied Texans.
Fortunately for us the temperatures were only in the mid-90's so the day was pleasant, the company was great.. but man, I was whipped by the time I got home.
So if you are looking for almost anything and a lot of nothing, Canton Texas on the weekend that contains the first Monday of the month is the deal for you.
Godspeed,
Don

Friday, September 4, 2009

Where Has the Time Gone?

A year ago, my bride set up this blog for me as a gift, as a thoughtful way of saying, "I love you and your thoughts and ideas are important" Anyway, that is way I choose to interpret the gesture.
But like all journeys, some of it has been good for me, perhaps good for you, at times not particularly good for anyone, but I thought it needed to be said. From the beginning I wrote because it is my way of putting the world in perspective. Since I travel a lot, and spend a lot of nights on the road by myself, I write. A lot of it doesn't get to the blog, my journal catches some, I save some to my laptop, I write some and erase it (usually after reading it and realizing it is just bad writing and doesn't need to inflicted on anybody) Just as a side note, the only thing I really hate about traveling is eating alone. My bride keeps telling me to order room service, but I find that just a tad more pathetic than eating alone in a restaurant. So to our close friends in Texas, that is why I love eating with you folks, it helps me feel like community. If I never eat alone again, I would be fine.

But I seem to have wandered off track. I wrote the first blog last year about this time. In that time my blogs have covered the journey of humor, sadness, venting, frustration, criticism (just and unjust)..all the range of action and reaction that I encountered.

So the blog today is just a "thank you" to my bride for setting this up. To my kids for keeping me in line with their comments (usually off line) to my friends who read because they are my friends, to those of you out there whom I have not met, but follow anyway. I find it humbling that you follow, that you occasionally respond.
Thanks and thanks again.

So, I pick up the pack again, another leg of the journey awaits.

Godspeed,
Don

Monday, August 31, 2009

Life is a Matter of Inches

Saturday was one of those days where nothing much happened, yet could have been a cataclysmic event. My bride and I started the day with a ton of errands, with the ultimate destination my son's house for dinner. They live 60 miles from us, with all the shopping stops of Dallas between us.

So we fixed a light breakfast of muffins and coffee, then hit the road. AT&T store (did everyone know they don't sell I-phones?)Post office-Office Depot, then north to downtown Dallas to the Farmer's Market for avocados, a small watermelon, and a pineapple. From there to lunch on McKinney Ave @ Jake's Burgers where my bride announced that we need to find a little off-the-wall once a week to eat. I guess I am always stunned to realize that she enjoys spending time with me as much as I enjoy spending time with her. Then on the Apple store where they do sell I-phones. We upgraded my bride's phone and were waited on by a very nice and very well-trained young man. He managed to show us the rudimentary features of the I-phone with virtually no eye-rolls (although I got the same feeling as when we travel to Mexico, he spoke very slowly and deliberately to make sure we got it...we only got some of it) Then on to Crate and Barrel, and a small gift shop, and a StarBucks in the same shopping center. I had to have a break and frappicino. Lowe's and Home Depot were next for some real shopping and since my little Ford Ranger was full, we headed to our son's house. Whew.

A lovely dinner ensued, with great conversation, exceptional food, and memories to be filed into the heart.

On the way home about 10PM, my bride and remarked how reckless the Dallas drivers are on Central Expressway, weaving in and out, cutting people off, zooming ahead and veering across multiple lanes to hit an exit ramp at full speed. Somewhere north of LBJ, a truck changed lanes which caused a car to swerve and come within inches of smacking into another truck. We were about 100 yards behind the nut in the car, so I was able to see the entire thing. With three vehicles all swerving trying to miss each other, I was trying to calculate which way would afford us a safe lane. The car and truck missed (I have no idea how) by inches. My bride gasped, I tapped the brakes to give me the extra few seconds of reaction time, saw a lane to the left and moved over. All missed each other, but I know that had they locked up, there was no way that our little truck and about a half dozen other cars weren't going to be part of a major pile-up. There was simply no room to maneuver in time.
After the adrenalin settled down, we talked about the fact that these nuts who zip around and cause huge problems usually end up killing some innocent family,minding their own business, perhaps at the end of a long and fulfilling day. Wham! Crunch! Slam! and the shape of that family is changed forever.
Inches from a devastating phone call to my kids. Perhaps months of hospitalization, or rehab, or days spent in funeral planning.
I've thought about this all weekend. Even the near miss changed my thoughts and pre-occupied my take on the world and the transience that we take for granted. As mentioned in other blogs, I followed the thought string with all the permutations. What if I was gone, what would my kids and my bride do? What if it was my bride, I will tell you there is no alternate plan, it just sort of faded to a dark and lonely feeling. What if both of us? How would our kids handle it? Inches, less than the width of my hand from a normal weekend to a day that my kids would weep over for years to come.

I will tell you that my disciplines were different Sunday morning and this morning. Different due to thankfulness that we get some more time to enjoy the benefits of a life well lived.

Godspeed, hug those close to you. The width of a hand can close quickly.
Don

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Discernment

One week ago I started (this is my third journey) reading again my favorite non-scripture book, Richard Foster's Celebration of Discipline: The Path to Spiritual Growth I have a pretty set routine for this endeavor. I read a chapter a week, several times, to ingrain the ideas that Foster finds important.

Chapter one really doesn't deal with any of the disciplines per se, but with the concept of embracing the disciplines. One of the cautions here is that spiritual disciplines are "a wonderful handmaiden, and a terrible taskmaster." The disciplines are intended to open us up to God's inspection, to develop an attitude of humble pursuit, to shine the light of God's right-ness into the dark crevasses of our souls and lives. But when the disciplines become too legal, too hard-edged, when we begin to impose them on others, then it becomes a burden too heavy to bear. I wrote in an earlier blog that I tend to drift in 3 year increments. Perhaps it is because I begin to use the disciplines as a crutch and a hammer, rather than a opportunity to reconnect, to grow.

The first paragraph sums up what I feel is the greatest need in the Kingdom today:

"Superficiality is the curse of our age. The doctrine of instant satisfaction is a primary spiritual problem. The desperate need today is not for a greater number of intelligent people, or gifted people, but for deep people."

We need people of discernment, not knowledge, not skill, not gifts..discernment, or wisdom as a word from another time. If the Kingdom work lacks anything, it is men and women who are wise in the ways of the heart and the heart of God. The Kingdom needs men and women who see things for what they are, not what they hoped it would be.

The problem lies within the hearts of those who do not give credence to the importance of discernment. They would rather find a quick fix, a magic bullet that will cure all that is wrong with the church and the church people. How can you tell when a community of faith is opting for the easy way out? The teaching is shallow, dispersed, broad. There is a tendency to be paper-thin and a mile wide. The leadership runs from one popular event/model/process to another. The teaching is not about the core truths, but the doctrinal distinctives (or bashing of distinctives) or popular/secular topics. We will never gain depth by studying the thoughts of men, only the thoughts of God.

So how do we identify men and women who are discerning? They can see through the popular notions and apply spiritual truth to the conversation. They are settled and, at times, slow to speak, almost ponderous in their evaluations. There is little in their nature that calls attention to their wisdom, they have learned that when the time is right, God will open a venue for them to speak his truths. Patience in the face of hurry is their MO. But when they speak, it is deep and true and honest and significant.

Do you know men and women like that? Then you have found a spiritual discipline adherent because that nature is not man's nature, it is of God.

Join me in the next 12 weeks, we will go where few venture.

Godspeed.
Don

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Not In A Long Time

I suffer from what I would call "thought strings." An idea pops into my head, then I chase all the possibilities, ramifications, applications off into the brush and sometimes forget where I started. But recently I wondered what happened to all the hilarity/nutty stuff that I did as a kid, and wondered why we don't do them now.

For instance: How long has it been that you got tickled about something and COULD NOT stop laughing? All of us as teenagers had a buddy make an outrageous, hilarious comment just as we were taking a drink of Dr. Pepper. You remember what happened...the Dr. Pepper spurts from your mouth, through your nose and out again, causing you to lunge forward to keep the stuff from spewing all down your front. It feels like the stuff is made of liquid fire, but you can't stop laughing. Choking, laughing to the point of tears, your side begins to hurt, by now you have had to find a place to set down your drink. And you can't retell the story to someone who wasn't there because the best you will get is a polite chuckle. You had to be there.

How about "papering" yards? Pick a girl you like, swipe the toilet paper from the men's dorm at ACU, then go toss the stuff into trees. There is a certain thrill to this mild act of vandalism. But here I am 40 years later remembering the thrill, the daring-do of my buddies as we ran back down the street to my '59 Chevy, now that's a get-away car. Of course as a 6th grader Mark and I made the mistake of shredding some of his school papers, with his name still on them, and papering a house within sight of his front door. Rookie mistakes. We had to pick all that up when the evidence, with Mark's name on it, was presented to his folks. So I will take this opportunity to apologize to the parents (those still living) of Betsy Dodge, Carla Willis, Teri Faneli, Ann Williford, Jody Whitefield, and all the girls my buddies were infatuated with. The list too long to write here, and there needs to be some plausible deniability.

Or how about skinny-dipping? I see photos of my 6-year-old grandson splashing through a creek in the Palo Duro canyon with his buddies and realize they are just a few short years from one of them saying, "I don't like to wear wet pants all day." It will not take those little inventive minds to come to the conclusion that swimming without clothes is both fun and problem-solving, no wet clothes. There is also a little bit of adventure in letting your "danglies" be in water that is also inhabited by turtles, fish, and all other critters. Frankly, I can't remember the last time I swam in anything but a pool. How domesticated have we become? Besides, we have finally reached the age where people won't stare at us anymore, in fact, there may be a certain amount of visual aversion.

So here is my plan. Let's go hit the local college, steal their toilet paper (revenge on the college punks who drive us nuts anyway) go paper some one's house, take a run to the lake, go skinny-dipping, then all meet at my house where we will relive the night with Dr. Pepper and peanuts. With any luck someone will shoot the stuff through their nose and we will all laugh until we pass out. Now that is my idea of fun. And long overdue. This grownup stuff is just no fun.

Godspeed out there. I have motion detectors on my house and a very vicious beagle...just FYI
Don

Thursday, August 13, 2009

It's About Time, Again

About every three years I spend 12 weeks reading a little book called Celebration of Disciplineby Richard Foster. It devotes a chapter to each of the primary spiritual disciplines, this will be my fourth trip down this path. For some reason I always find something I didn't see before, a new insight, a fresh perspective, a renewal of my devotion to these disciplines. There is always a moment of reorientation to benefits of the disciplines.

It is interesting to me that this refocus seems to always fall into these three year increments. I can tell when I need to reread this little book because of the sloppiness of my own dedication. It starts with the feeling of anxiety about events and issues over which I have no control. This can be work-related, church-related, relationship-related, or all of the above. The anxiety builds because the focus has drifted from spiritual matters to secular. This re dedication is needed because I can track how far I have drifted simply by looking in my journal...blank pages or long pauses between entries are a red flare that I have not been as devoted as I need to be about silence and solitude, prayer and fasting, etc. The journal is like the moments in my marriage when we would not communicate for a long period of time about anything significant, then wonder why we felt alone, isolated from each other. This is precisely what is happening when my journal remains empty. I'm not talking to God and, more importantly, I'm not listening either.

What will happen is that this grey, listless feeling will be replaced by reflection, repentance, and ultimately renewal. The rebound will not be swift, but it will be sure. I'm not sure why I always let it wind down like this. Rationalization is always in play, I write a blog - a form of on-line journal. But this doesn't dig to the depths that I need it to, I can't be as honest here as I can in my private journal, recording my deepest fears, my most constant mistakes, anger unspoken, desires best not published, grudges held, sins confessed. This is not the forum to share my prayers over my bride, my children, or my grandchildren.

So I am going back to training camp..again. I dread the soreness of spiritual muscles not used recently. But I anticipate the exhilaration of entering into the presence of the one who can use me in a significant way.

I hope you can join in. The book is about the only one I would recommend beyond the big book.

Godspeed.
Don

Thursday, August 6, 2009

No Coffee?!?

Yesterday was a day of traveling to St. Louis to call on a potential new account, then fly to Tampa and call on an existing account, then home. Usually on my travels I try to book enough time for delays, getting lost, last minute emergencies. Yesterday was no exception. However, it was one of those days that a friend of mine calls "good karma travel days" It all went without a hitch.

So I am at the St. Louis airport with an hour to kill and decided a nice Starbucks and a bagel would be nice. So I went to the Great American Bagel Co. and bought a sesame bagel, and with a certain amount of tolerant arrogance, told the young lady that, "no, I do not need a coffee." Particularly your coffee (I'm sure my demeanor conveyed my disdain) Then I marched down the terminal to the Starbucks and was very delighted to realize there was not a line. I stepped up to the counter and said, "Tall, Pike's leave a little room for creamer." Foreign accent..Pakistani maybe.."No Coffee" What? No coffee at a Starbucks? "What do you mean, no coffee?" "No coffee, machine broken. Something else?"
How can there be no coffee? That is like American Airlines saying, "We aren't flying today, no planes" I was speechless. I'm standing there with my contraband bagel and no coffee. So I mumbled my, "No thanks" and sat down in their little eating area bummed by the turn of events.

Now what? No Starbucks. I considered going back to Great American Bagel Co., hat in hand admitting that, yes, I changed my mind and would like a coffee. But my pride which is like a little tiny devil on my shoulder wouldn't let me. I choked down my bagel dry, went to the men's room to make sure I didn't have any sesame seeds stuck in my teeth, and went to my appointment.

I am still puzzled how a Starbucks could not have coffee. It impacted my entire day. Analogies keep popping into my head..Taco Bueno without tacos...Burger King with no burgers..Discount Tire with no tires...This may be one of the signs of the end times. And I have to face it without caffeine. Oh the tragedies, oh the humanity!

I'm better now, just had my coffee for the morning.

Godspeed out there, this journey is at times dangerous.
Don

Monday, August 3, 2009

Method and Mystery

This spiritual walk is one filled with ironies, dissonance, conflicting concepts, and varied responses.
Last night at our monthly, small group meeting, I had an opportunity to visit with a friend of mine who is 20 years or so back along the trail. He asked a simple question, and received a full blown explanation of how I believe spiritual formation takes place. Several years ago I developed a five year study journey that covers what I call one of the three legs of the spiritual formation stool. We come to a point in our lives where we have to have something to rest on, to be assured of, and this common metaphor of a step stool is one of the easiest to convey. If you have only one leg it is a constant battle to stay balanced, if you have two, the battle is a little easier, but you can't fully relax or put your weight on it, with all three you can rest assured that the weight of your life and convictions will be held.

As a background, the three legs of this stool are Knowledge, Ministry (service) and Mystery. It is the different natures of these three legs that make most of us a little crazy. The spiritual tribe I grew up in had a fence post for the leg of knowledge, we could argue everyone to the ground, but had no real ministry to reach out, to develop compassion. And we shied away from anything mysterious. Spiritual disciplines were limited to study and prayer, and if you had to choose study won out. But recently, we have shifted away from the study aspect as well. Not relevant.

So I have begun trying to get folks around me to understand the credence in the balance. "knowledge puffs up" as the old book says, but ignorance is not bliss, it is dangerous. The book clearly points out that the God we worship is an orderly and disciplined God. Try reading the specs on the temple or the ark, you get the impression that an engineer is putting this together. We need to get firmly placed in peoples minds the big concepts like God's mission in this world (providence) What place Christ holds in this (Christology) The implications of the Spirit (Pneumatology) Where does the church fit in? (Ecclesiology)And finally end times (Eschatology) We should have a working knowledge of these to develop what can be referred to an a community of "informed judgment" People of discernment are in short supply, the world is looking for those people.

But knowledge alone creates ego, creates a lack of mercy. You must firmly attach knowledge to obedient service. A guy said in one of my classes years ago that his "knowledge had outgrown his obedience" How profound. I think he may have hit on something. Knowledge should drive us to service, to help, to be the ambassadors that we need to be. Service alone, however, is a small step away from the Salvation Army. Helpful, but not lending eternal help.

Finally, the spiritual, mystical disciplines have to be employed. These keep us in the presence of God, open to his nature, his will, and his mission. It turns the floodlight of God's truth inward, toward our rebellious hearts. The disciplines are meant to be mysterious. Pondered and practiced in a world of deepening understanding. All the while expanding our realization of our ignorance of things mystical.

These three legs will keep us balanced and tuned into the hand and mind of God.
My friend listened and asked questions, so he wasn't bored. The only question he asked that I couldn't answer was, "why don't churches do this?"

Why indeed.

Godspeed.
Don

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Teach, Your Children Well, Their Father's Help..

Now that Crosby, Stills and Nash are coursing through your head, let me tell you how my day has gone.
It is Sunday morning, my bride is in Amarillo visiting the grand kids, it is cool and quiet. I have decided to go work out after a Saturday of dietary impropriety. I took my dad to dinner (at 4:30) and his favorite place is Catfish Haven. Fried catfish, fried hushpuppies, and a nod to non-fried, a baked potato. My only defense is I wanted to be a good son and take him where he wanted to go. And, unfortunately, it was really good.
So I drove home late last night, turned in and was up and running to the health club as early as I could get rolling. Sort of a penance for bad behavior.
Arrived at the health club at 6:15AM and hoping I would be alone, but no such luck. There was a guy there with his 10-12 year old daughter. As I walked in, it was obvious he was trying to instruct in the different machines and it seemed that when I arrived his tone went up a little, his demeanor was rude and condescending. AS is the custom at health clubs, I made no comment, did not make eye contact, and went about my business.
But here is what I heard...
"Not like that! You have to adjust for your height! Can't you see the adjustment knob?"
"Hurry up, I'm way past my hour for a workout."
"You need to work out, that's the only way to get rid of your flab"

At this point I almost intervened. I'm still seething and feeling guilty about not doing so. I'm sure he would defend himself and say that he was "teaching" her how to work out.
First of all, never take workout instructions from a 40-year-old guy who has a watermelon belly and stick legs. Either he doesn't know what he is doing or he doesn't believe it. I have managed to attain his level of physical fitness by not exercising and eating the wrong foods (see above)
Secondly, stop showing out in front of the crowd and belittling your kids.
Here is my take on parenting:
1. It takes 10 times more honest encouragement than criticism to raise a healthy, balanced person.
2. There has be equal portions of compassion/firmness; sacrifice/satisfaction; humility/honesty; respect given/taken.

There should be required course for parents to be, before the festivities begin, each parent-to-be should be given a 100 hour course on what it means to be a parent. Of course this would only accelerate the decline in birth rates in America, but we would be so much healthier. Of course we do have a course..it is called being parented. I have no idea what this guys role models are for parenting, but I suspect he is emulating what he saw as a young boy. He thinks teaching is authority and control and dominance and he is teaching his little girl these life lessons. This young girl is learning that men are overbearing, rude, inconsiderate, hypocritical, demanding, and loud. He is teaching her resentment, insecurity, and ultimately insolence. Her future is going to be one filled with trying to find some guy who will not treat her like her father did. Unfortunately, we have all seen women who ended being attracted to precisely the kind of men they experienced as young girls. I shudder to think what kind of life choices she will make due to her young training. I suspect that if she shows up for his funeral, it will be to make sure that this moron, who made her life miserable, is finally in the ground.

But I have to be careful. I have a little of this guy in me. We have too many friends that imploded later in life due to insecurities buried deep in their souls as little girls or little boys, insecurities that sat like a ticking time bomb. When it exploded later, the shrapnel hit their husbands and kids and friends, and the ticking was so quiet no one heard it. The shattering explosion they heard and felt, but not the impending nuclear event. So I have to wonder what I have buried deep within my kids. Did my training set them up to fail? Will they be able to handle the disappointments without destroying themselves or those around them? I may never know, because sometimes the timer is set to go off when the culprit who set the bomb permanently leaves the scene. BOOM! Where did that come from?!??

Yes, indeed, we teach our children well. But character traits like honesty, integrity, compassion, mercy, and humility are more caught than taught. We live what we believe. Teach your kids this, and the rest will work out.

My bride came across a great quote that reminds me that as my kids approach middle age, my job is not done.."When teaching your son, you are teaching your son's son." Chilling.

Godspeed to all of us out there who still have some teaching to do.
Don