Thoughts on the journey

Panic Attacks

2012-01-24T06:34:00.002-06:00

Anyone who has spent any amount of time on this globe will experience panic attacks. These attacks can be initiated by any number of things. It could be as simple as forgetting an appointment, news of a gravely ill loved one, uncertainty about the future, dimming prospects, and the list goes on. These attacks rush in and leave us stunned and silent, fighting the impulse to run and hide.

I have had more attacks than what I consider my share. Gravely ill children, my mother passing away, jobs lost, circumstances far beyond my control. These have become such a part of my world that I can predict where I am in the process. By the way, this self awareness does not minimize the impact, it merely helps me understand where I am.

So what does it look like in my world? The news comes blasting in from left field. Usually I am in involved in the most mundane activities. It takes a few moments to realize what is happening, then the inevitable casting about for alternatives that must be considered..it is a joke, it is not possible, it is not serious (although it sounds terrible) my mind wanders all over for a moment. Then the confirmation that, yes indeed, there is a serious problem. Then the continuing process of trying to decide what to do, when, and what are the consequences.

But in the midst of all the processing of the news is the physical impact of the attack. My bride's response is to stop eating. When we share the event we develop a "battle speak" that gives the other one clues about where we are. She will get up and out to release a little of the tension. I will wait and then try to see if I can help. My response is to feel like I can't quite catch a deep enough breath, there is a heavy feeling in my chest, and most embarrassing of all, I feel like I am going to burst into tears at any little thing.

Here are a few things we have learned about these attacks. Stay busy. Keep your hands busy, keep your head busy. We had such an event this past weekend and my bride worked feverishly on a quilt, I washed/folded/put away clothes, washed dishes, anything to keep busy. But the real work, the real effort is to continue to hand this event over to the One who can comfort, can work it out, does see the future. So while I am folding a tee-shirt, I say a prayer, then the next set of socks, prayer, drinking glass in the dishwasher, prayer, pick up a stray toy, prayer...

There is something inside me that makes me think these attacks are somehow nonspiritual. That they reflect a shallow or imperfect faith. When I compare my experience to those around me I wonder why I can't seem to find the ability to be joyful when it feels that my world is crumbling from under my feet. But I have learned that my nature does not gloss the circumstances. In fact, my head runs through all the thought strings and some of them are terrifying. So how to deal with this dissonance.

In the old book I find my savior praying to the point of sweating blood. I find a plea to change the inevitable conclusion to the story. I find the authors of all the books peering into the face of disaster, feeling the panic, and then submitting to the events and clinging desperately to the thin rope of faith. When I find people who are in the midst of the same type of attacks I advise them to ignore the impulse to evaluate their faith. I encourage them to simply trust it. The roller-coaster of emotions are natural and God-given.

As in this past weekend, we found some answers, we found some equilibrium, we have found a moment to set aside the battle armor from other attacks. We still find ourselves worn out from the ordeal, but the smoke has cleared and the losses were minimal.

Godspeed to those who are in the midst of these attacks. Cling tight to your faith, let go the notion that you should act in any certain way.

Don

A Mixed Bag

2012-01-13T05:23:00.006-06:00

Yesterday was one of those days where I felt that I was hitting on all cylinders. The day spent with one of the reps who was new to his territory and we called on three accounts. Each was so different from the other that we were able to spend time building strategy for each one. We talked about territory management, forecasting, strategically approaching his business to swiftly maximize his business. I texted my bride and told her I LOVED this job, mostly because after a long layoff, I was able to do what I love to do.

So as I crawled into bed, far from home, but content with the day, it occurred to me that the farm that I had grown up on, which had been a presence in my life for the past 50 years had been sold that day. My dad and I talk every week, a couple of times a week and he had called me on Monday and said they were closing on the farm. I tried to put it out of my mind because there was nothing I could do about it except be grateful that it was something that my dad wouldn't have to worry about any longer.

But it made me sad. I recalled romping down at the creek, getting muddy by sliding down an embankment into the murky water. I recalled the few times a water snake would come swimming down the middle of the creek causing quite a commotion as all us kids cleared out of the water to the snake pass..he had the right-of-way since we were all terrified of snakes. There were the summer thunderstorms where we would get trapped in the barn and marvel that we had to yell at each other because the rain and hail were so loud on the old tin roof. There was the craziness of building our own sled and hooking it behind the tractor and dragging each other at speeds that could cause serious damage if we fell off (or were slung off!)

Of course there was always the mischief that three boys could conjure up.
Fixing the electric fence was always a challenge as one brother would stand at the break in the thin wire and another would stand at the switchbox to turn it off so the mending could take place, then turn it on when it was completed:

"IS IT OFF?" yelling was the I-phone of the day
"YES, IT IS OFF!"
"ARE YOU SURE?"
"YES! I'M LOOKING RIGHT AT IT!"

So you tenuously pick up the cold strand (furthest from the swithcbox) and then hesitantly pick up the potential "hot" strand. About one out of ten times the big joke was to leave the current on. When the repairer picked up both ends he became the closure in the circuit and the alternating current would blow a shock through you that would leave your joints buzzing, your teeth rattling, and an intense urge to urinate. Of course you couldn't hear the hooting and laughing for several seconds because it took you that long to realize again what had happened. Sometimes it was just easier to walk the several hundred yards back and forth to make sure the thing was off before grabbing the ends. Trust was not a big player for us boys at the farm.

And of course there were the meals. Mom was a firm believer in the big breakfast. This was long before the metro days of cholesterol, fat count, and all that. She just knew we needed lots of calories for the work of the day. So every morning she made piles of bacon and plates of scrambled eggs, biscuits and on Saturdays she added pancakes to the menu. We gobbled it down and knew we would be ravenous by lunch. Then there were the Saturday evenings of setting up the long folding tables and eating out under the big, old pecan trees. The heat of the day dissipating under the shade as we ate steak and fries and whatever else she put in the table. It was a golden time as we worked and joked and ate as a family of field hands.

But along with all the memories are the best and most fundamental lessons. The contentment of having tired muscles and sore back from a long day of farm work. To understand that hard work is its own reward. It was a moment of contentment to rock back on your heels and watch several hundred yards of sprinklers throwing 40' streams across the Bermuda pasture and realizing that you had laid that pipe straight and true. To take pride in a job well done. I remember staring back at the precision of the rows laid down while driving the old Farmall-H that was older than I, but at my direction turned back the rows and lifted the dust over me. The lessons that callouses and farmer-tan and grit in your hair and in your teeth are badges of honor..honor that not many from my day were allowed to hold. The lesson that shared work builds community, and lives.

And so the day brought joy and fulfillment and pride and regret and sorrow and a slight sense of displacement. For you see this was the place for the past 50 years that reminded me of where I came from, who I was in a fundamental way. The sight of the old farm house reminded me of grandparents and parents, siblings and friends who had all shared the omelet that was me. It now belongs to someone else, it is no longer mine except in the memories of my life and the strands that have woven me into who I am.

Godspeed to those out there who turned this bend in the journey. Most have by my age. But as in most things in life, it is better to let your backpack view the journey that has been, and your boots find the journey that will be.
Don

Christmas Past

2012-01-11T08:06:00.002-06:00

It is official. Santa and all his minions are safely captured and back in the attic.I have mentioned on this blog my love/hate relatoinship with the holiday we know as Christmas. My memories are of kids and grandkids, laughter (lots of laughter) snuggles, wrestling with the grandkids, finding a parent when a dirty diaper is detected, cooking, cleaning, and late night decaf with just a little bite of something sweet. But my last memory is always putting the cases and cases of decorations back in the attic. Next year will be very little decorating coupled with a very quiet Christmas as all our kids and grandkids go visit their in-laws.

I told my kids to marry orphans..Did they listen? No.

Anyway, Godspeed to another holiday season. Hope yours was a good one.
Don

I Don't WANT to Grow Up!

2012-01-04T09:19:00.002-06:00

As the official start to the new year I hopped on a plane and flew to the City of Angels. Apparently all the flights now are completely booked. This one was full of business men, young couples, families, and the assorted foreigner. I was seated comfortably in row 21 on the aisle. Fortunately next to a young, slender Asian woman, who promptly dropped off to sleep and didn't wake up until the wheels jounced her awake in LA. I'm sure she was not nearly as pleased to be slotted next to a stocky, white-haired, business traveler, but as the book says it rains on the just and the unjust..my seat was dry.

There was the usual bag engineering, eye-rolling, and fitting of all parts into small spaces. Then we rolled out the bird and took off.

My eldest daughter gave me a Kindle for Christmas. It is one of the small, simple kind..which matches me. There are only a few buttons and not much trouble you can get into. The first thing I downloaded was the NIV Study Bible, then the Girl With the Dragon Tattoo trilogy. So for three hours I read. This thing is incredible, light, compact, easy to store, nice print size. The book was even good. Of course I had a few frustrating moments realizing that the "forward" and "backward" key is both sides of the instrument..who knew? So I played and read and had just a grand old time at 37,000 ft.

As we were approaching the airport, they came on and asked us to turn off all electronic devices. I had a close call a couple of weeks ago with a new business I-phone where I didn't know how the blasted thing turned off. I was frantically trying to find the right button, texting my bride for instructions and trying to ignore the flight attendant standing there, tapping her foot, arms folded, giving me the evil-eye. I did not need or want an "Alec Baldwin" moment. Finally my bride texted me back with great instructions and saved the day and my career. Anyway, I turned off my Kindle and was stowing it away when I noticed that several of the business men around me blithely tapping away on their I-pads, PCs, and E-readers, ignoring the attendants after several warnings. I thought, "Good Grief! Turn those things off! My 8-year-old grandson obeys better than you do!" I wanted to slap them with my Kindle! But each one had to have an attendant ask them specifically to turn them off.

What is up with us that we never seem to grow up in certain ways? Our actions are not in a vacuum, they impact everybody. Now I will tell you I suspect the pilot was landing that bird with or without their little E-machines on, but really, can't you listen just once and turn the little monster off?!?

So I did the only adult thing I could do. As soon as the seat belt light clipped off, I jumped up and blocked the aisle by grabbing my suitcase, rolling briefcase, and my jacket in time to keep them from jumping off.

I can be a childas well as the next guy.

Godspeed, what a fun journey it will be this year.
Don

Free Advertising

2011-12-29T14:21:00.005-06:00

I wanted to let everyone know that I am starting a new blog that will coordinated with a Sunday meeting. www.whatdidjesusdo-don.blogspot.com

It is my hope to drive us all back into the scriptures and looking at the life and times of Jesus without the artificial structuring of a modern book or a motive to achieve.

Take a look if you like. If you are in the south Dallas area on Sunday mornings around 9:30AM, come by the Duncanville Church of Christ and find your way to room 218. I would love to visit with you in person.

Welcome to the journey.

Godspeed.
Don

Finishing Up

2011-12-29T12:52:00.002-06:00

Wow, what a year this has been. It seems we have had some really good events in our lives and we have had some struggles. It has occurred to me that the greatest frustration in our society has to be when the revenue is not there. There are simply too many things that can't be done, help provided, or dreams embraced without the money to make ends meet. We certainly survived that part of it in better shape than I expected. Now with regular income it is much easier to plan and dream and help those who are still stuck in the mire of unemployment.

Christmas this year was at our house, with our six kids and their four kids. There was a moment before the wrapping began flying that I was able to spend a moment and reflect about how blessed I am. I watched as my grown kids dealt with set-backs and fears. My only granddaughter had heart surgery, my youngest grandson has food allergies that make it a little tricky to cook for him. My second grandson continues to struggle with inner-ear stuff and stresses his parents about his hearing and his development. My oldest grandson struggles mightily with reading and had to make a trip to Dallas to be tested. Job insecurities with both son and son-in-laws. This is simply the stuff of life that everyone struggles with, but it my little troupe and consequently my personal prayer battles and kingdom.

Yet, I couldn't help but feel proud of the people they have become. They are mature and honest, helpful and compassionate, they will stand in the way of injustice and speak their minds. There is not a coward or a slouch in the bunch. And the greatest gift of all is the struggle for lap time with Nena or Grandaddy. There is a picture somewhere in all this furor of me holding my two youngest grandsons. I remarked that it felt like I was holding 100 lbs of grandkids, which brought a swift response from my daughter and d-i-l that it couldn't be more than 60 lbs. Jeez, moms have no sense of humor. It was with regret that my shoulders and back told me it was time to set them down. Of course the expanding wriggle-fest was making it a little hard to hold them anyway.

This is Christmas in the truest sense. Seeing your life's work finish well. Seeing the impact of our love and our commitment fulfilled in the lives of our troupe. Christ was born to redeem man, and his greatest redemptive test is within the boundaries of our families.

Godspeed, I pray your year finished well. Mine sure did.
Don

Underground

2011-12-15T07:47:00.004-06:00

Let's get the news out of the way first. I am gainfully employed by the largest manufacturer in the medical uniform industry. It is not a clear distinction to be a sales manager because everyone you meet in this company is a vice president of some sort. The compensation is an adjustment from before, but that is a common impact of this new world we find ourselves in. Not complaining because it is 1000% better than where I have been for the past 20 months. So, in the words of the old spiritual..we have overcome.

My first day was Monday and it involved getting on a crowded airplane and flying to Vegas for a national sales meeting. Instead of filling out forms, and being pointed to the restroom and the free coffee, I spent 3 hours on a plane, then stepped into a meeting where at least half of these guys would be my responsibility.

It was fascinating to see the reaction to my introduction. Some were wary, some were indifferent, some were gracious, all were curious. The introduction was made in the midst of sea-change for the entire company. I was merely a small functional part of that sea change. For the next two days I was bombarded with information and questions about the restructuring. Fortunately I was able to play my clueless card and avoid most of the questions.

So for the next two days I sat through meetings about product and marketing and IT and territory and sales management. Dinner followed the meetings and then late to bed. It was Wednesday morning when we checked out and stood in the cold, misty morning in front of the hotel that I realized that I had not been out of the hotel since Monday at noon. For the past 2 days I had been underground.

It is disorienting to spend that much time, fully active, not sick, and indoors the entire stay. Hotels with casinos probably are designed that way. They want you to lose track of time and day. If they can bombard you with sound and ply you with food and drink, then they have you slightly imbalanced and unable to make lucid decisions. When I think back on the people I noticed at the slots or at the blackjack tables, or roulette tables, none of them looked happy. There was a range of body languages, but I wondered if the ones that looked the most dispirited were the longest tenured guests.

I'm sure that I looked like a bear coming out of hibernation that first exposure to outside air. I stood there transfixed and breathing deeply the refreshing outside desert air of the Vegas morning, glad to be shed of the clanging noise of the slots and the infiltration of the indoor cigarette smoke. The ride to the airport took far too long, and the flight couldn't depart soon enough.

I was glad to be back above ground and headed home.

Godspeed to the new travelers in the coming year, it will be a good one.
Don

Marriage Conflict Solutions

2011-11-22T07:50:00.002-06:00

After much reflection and years of experience (36 to be exact) I have decided that the cause of most marital conflict is two-fold.

Here is an example of a conversation just this morning. I am in the shower after our workout, my bride is at the sink doing whatever it is that women do in front of the mirror.

She says something to me that sounds like, "What are we doing today?"
I respond to her question, "We are meeting Ben and Sarah for lunch at CPK in north Dallas!"

No answer.

As I think about what to wear, I yell, "What is the temp supposed to be today?"

She yanks open the shower door and claims that is exactly what she just asked me, so she guesses the answer is "CPK!"

In years gone by this entire exchange might have been the distant roll of thunder leading up to a violent thunderstorm of marital unrest. I don't listen, she doesn't answer my questions, on and on. Now we laugh.

Experts tell us that lack of communication is one of the primary causes of divorce. I submit that the primary cause is too much communication! Oh, we guys learn early the folly of responding to trap questions like, "Does this make me look fat?" or "Which of these shoes do you like best?" After 36 years we have the scars to show for these missteps. You can't fool us with these anymore. But we still get drawn off-sides by the blather of the so-called "experts" that tell us we must open up the cupboard and bare our souls over any and all questions. It seems to me that we need to spend a little time thinking about what we will fight about, and what is simply not worth the effort.

Here are some areas of past conflict that simply don't need to be revisited:
Me: Good at discussing home improvement, in favor of home improvement, like shopping for home improvement, don't mind buying materials for home improvement..don't like DOING home improvement.
Her: Getting knick-knacks for the house. I'm being kind here. She can find beauty in stuff that has lost its usefulness long ago, but she crafts it into all manner of decorations. I don't get it.

But why fight about these things? We have long ago established the argument guidelines, we don't need to revisit them. It is pretty clear after 36 years there is little hope for fundamental change. So why should we over-communicate on issues we will never agree on? Our marriage is better by letting it go.

Which leads to the second one. Energy. We simply don't have the energy to engage in full combat any more. Besides, it wastes time. Every once in a while someone will fire a round across the DMZ just to see if the other one is alert, but generally we are through fighting. I think we have called it a draw. We are like two old pugilists after 15 rounds, arm weary, heads down, bloody and beaten, and simply too tired to keep fighting. I think divorce happens when people marry out of their weight class.

So kids, here is my advice.
1. If your partner has not changed their ways in the first six months, the problem is yours, not theirs. Their DNA is not going to change. So think long and hard how much of this you can handle.
2. Marry in your weight class. Here is a good way to tell. During your dating and engagement life did you come out pretty even in your squabbles? In other words, did you win about half of the battles? If so, good. If not, you should have done a better job of due-diligence.
3. Think about what you are going to argue about. He has spent 20 years leaving the seat up. Get over it. Just make sure that if you are going to have a screaming, knock-down, call the local authorities, can't remember what you were fighting about fight, it needs to be important.
4. Finally, there is no such thing as "make-up" sex. Trust me on this one.

Godspeed, we are better people by knowing our energy limits and our ability to win.
Don

Flu Shots

2011-11-09T08:02:00.004-06:00

Each year around the first of October my bride begins preparations for us to get our flu shots. She starts by pointing to the CVS signs and Wal-Mart signs about flu shots. Then the comparison of which ones will take the insurance for the shot and the planning for the day and time. The school system, where she has worked for 20 years, usually makes this available for employees and those of us who are leeches on our spouses insurance.

When a time and place are located to her satisfaction she states in a rather firm voice, "We ARE going to get our shots at such and such place at such and such time!" The implication being that I have no choice. Now, let me say, I am vulnerable to the various flus that swirl through our society. I am especially vulnerable to the stomach or intestinal flus. And it is my bride that has to deal with all the fall-out (ooh, bad choice of words). It is at this point that I blame my parents.

We were raised on farm in west Texas where we had our own water source. It was a shallow, murky, moss-filled creek that ran across the back of our farm. We would pump the water from the creek into two large "settling" tanks, where my chore every day after school was to pour 2 cups of Chlorox into the tanks. As my bride and friends will tell you when they see me cook, measurements of ingredients are more guidelines than actual measurements. It was a hassle to scale the wooden ladder leaned against the tanks with a jug of Chlorox and measuring cup. So I would only haul the Chlorox up the ladder and eye-ball the measurement. Too little and no one knew(except for the mild dysentery) a little too much and a day later our drinking water had a distinct Chlorox whang to it. After the scientific treatment that I applied the water would then run through a 40' underground gravel trench to an underground storage tank where it was then pumped into the house and used for drinking water, dish and clothes washing and baths for all of us. The assumption I have about my frail digestive system is that the little hardy bugs that made it through this process have homesteaded my intestines for the past 50 years. So I fully agree with the need for the shots. I just don't like them.

Yesterday was "shot" day. We met at the school where they were inoculating all of us, stood in line and waited our turn. Getting shots is one of the only events in my life that suddenly turns me back into an 8-year-old. I know the "stick" will be minimal, I know the little bugs will keep me safe until next May, I know the after affects will be minimal, and yet I stand there screwing up my courage to be an adult. And it is harder than you think. I watched a little boy in front of me handle it like a pro, and I am thinking, "Crap, I hope I don't squeal like a little girl, this kid will make fun of me!" Punk.

So the nurse asks me, "Which arm would you prefer?" ....yours. "Did you get a shot last year?"...yes, and I cried like a baby. "There, that wasn't so bad."...really? how does your arm feel right now. My actual conversation was.."left".."yes".."thanks" For a guy who considers words his friends, I become mono-syllabic when confronted with pain. My bride left there and went to yoga. I went home, had a Blue Moon while stretched out on the couch. My recuperation method is far superior to my bride's.

For another year we have thwarted the avians and the asians and all others that would attack us with their little flu bugs. The arm is a little sore this morning and I kind of feel yucky, but that could all be in my head. My bride has accomplished one of her Fall goals, we are free to interact with impunity with the world at large.

Godspeed to all you who have been or will be "shot" this fall. We are better people for it. Unless they are using sugar water instead of the real thing. Which, by the way, is the only medicine in the USA that does not come with a warning. Hmmm.

Don

The End Justifying the Means

2011-11-08T07:04:00.002-06:00

Over the past several months there has been a growing realization that our society is intent on the end result at the expense of the journey. Some of you out there might be saying to yourselves that this moment of understanding is coming awfully late in my life, but I guess I held out hope that the end result and the method getting there can both be accomplished with integrity. Sadly, this does not seem to be the case.

And the truth is that this mindset pervades all aspects of our culture. We seem to be intent more on the speed of results than the method and quality of the results. Instead of exercising for an hour a day, every day, for months and years, we would rather take a pill, or undergo surgery to reap the rewards of looking healthy. We like the slim tummy and the smaller size pants, but we still can't climb stairs or lift anything over our heads without straining a muscle. The results are a cheap facsimile of the real deal. You see it takes far too long to gain the stamina, the lowered heart rate, the correct cholesterol level that good diet and extended exercise brings. We want to forgo the hassles of the journey to get to our goal..looking good.

We see the same thing in business. Questionable methods are condoned as long as the profits go up along with the sales figures. Who cares if people get hurt or marginalized in the process? At least companies these days don't spend any time on the concept of loyalty any longer..they know it is a myth, the employees certainly know it is a myth. So we develop the fastest path to the desired goals regardless of the health or well-being of anyone involved be it executives, employees, or customers. American business at least has dropped the facade of "partnership" and "best practices".

This same malady has befallen our religious arena as well. The concept of slow, careful spiritual formation has long been jettisoned for the quick hit of urban ministry. The common mantra seems to be "keep 'em busy" and they will give their money and show up enough to make the attendance look good. Church leadership seems far more interested in growing the organization than growing the weakest member. Deals are struck, communication is convoluted at best or intentionally misleading to gain the quickest resolution. And the leadership has the latent approval of the congregation to do so because no one is stupid enough to question the marketing blitz that goes on. Doesn't it make sense that if church leadership spent the time and enormous energy in developing disciples, who are Spirit and spirit led, that any initiative that the leadership felt good about would have the confidence to be completely transparent in their communication? Sadly, this is the rarity, not the common-place. We want spiritual formation NOW! Yet from my own experience it is a very slow, halting process.

Unfortunately we also see it in our families. It seems much easier to just hammer on some other family member than to try and understand their lot. We want experts to tell us what to do. Without fail when I teach my conflict management course someone will come up after class and spell out a particular problem with a kid or spouse or in-law, then stand there expectantly wanting me to give them the "answer". And after this happening dozens of times I have to take a deep breath and control my impulse to take a stab at giving them an answer! I am afflicted with the same disease! I can't come up with an answer in 30 seconds to a problem that has developed over years. No one can. But we want to subvert the process and get to an answer as quickly as possible.

Not long ago I read this quote (I wish I could remember where) "Only Bad Things Happen Quickly.." This resonated with me because it is so counter to our culture. We are not into the long haul. And we sure don't like a difficult process.

Here is what I want:
1. Understanding that the process has to have the same level of integrity that the end result will have.
2. I want organizations to act in the best interests of the least in that group, be it corporate or church or family.
3. I want the patience to undertake the slow and careful journey of doing the right things.
4. I want the wisdom to understand that good things come slowly.
5. I want the courage to confront those around me who want to circumvent the process of integrity.

Not too much to ask, do you think?

Godspeed, this journey is best enjoyed when done in the right way.
Don

Backwards..Again

2011-11-03T07:26:00.002-05:00

Over the past couple of months this conversation has entered into my world.

If we serve a God of love/mercy/forgiveness/compassion, then how can He doom mankind to eternal punishment? Our sectarian heritage makes this a tough question to answer. We have spent a hundred years articulating all the requirements for a safe passage to heaven. And this list of requirements is not easily determined nor adhered to. We are quick with the five steps, quick with what our group should look like, and quick with the doctrinal distinctives that set us apart. We have even driven it down to non-scriptural settings like non-instrumental music, two prayers at communion (not just one big prayer), structure like elders and deacons (sorry, no deaconesses) even which Bible translation is appropriate. We have piled high the criteria, then wondered why no one would want to join us.

Then a couple of years ago I read from one of the spiritual formation guys that Hell is the default setting, not Heaven. His take was to set the bar at ground level. Do you believe? And I was taken aback by the lowering of the standards. Secretly I want a lot of covert stipulations because I tend to see the waiting line as a continuum, and the harder I can make it for someone else, the better for me. So if God is as we described above wouldn't it make sense that He would set the bar as low as possible? Instead of a judgement day taken up with listing all my sins, wouldn't it make sense to have Him laugh and say, "Close enough!" Wouldn't it make sense that if He was truly as we attest that He would look for any loophole to get us into His presence? If my son committed the most egregious offense against me, but somewhere in that offense I could still detect a sliver of Love, a moment of guilt, the slightest hint of remorse, that I would embrace him anyway?

Yet we approach the Creator as one who is looking for any reason to withhold His blessings. How can this give us confidence to live? or more importantly, to die with assurance?

We have this backwards..again. Not the first time and certainly not the last. But it is the Divine nature that allows us to reexamine what we believe and why.

Godspeed, I think we need to understand that He will give us a break at the slightest opportunity.
Don

I Hate This...

2011-10-20T07:09:00.003-05:00

Last Thursday I made a mental mistake and backed my bride's Blazer into our garage door while it was still in the process of opening. The day had been a particularly ugly one and I simply forgot that the door takes a little while to go up or down. So as I backed out of the garage there was that grinding pop, as the door kicked off the rails. No damage to the car. So the door had to be tied in the closed position for security sake. We were now forced to go through the back yard and in the back door. Not huge, but a constant reminder that I had a brain hiccup and it would cost me money to get it fixed.

So I called a local guy to come fix the door. Now if you don't know how these things work let me just say that it all hinges on a large spring over the garage door, with a LOT of tension that drives the entire thing. Let me also say that if you were to unleash all that tension with all the metal rods attached..well, it would leave a mark.

Anyway, I made the comment that I was going inside to work and he could handle it himself. My final comment was a humorous attempt to let him know that I did not want be in there if something went wrong and that spring came unsprung at the wrong moment. That comment started a 10 minute story about how he wouldn't work on the spring for the first 8 years he was in this business! Come to find out he was as afraid of those things as I was! Really? You are afraid of the primary component of your livelihood? How can this be? I scurried out of there when he slowed down on the story, mumbling something about having to get back to my laptop.

But this is probably not all that uncommon. Most sales people have to fight what is known as call reluctance. I would guess there are dentists who hate to deal with cavities, teachers who would love their jobs if it weren't for the kids, preachers who love to preach, but hate to study, doctors who can't stand the sight of blood. Politicians who love to campaign, but hate to govern. We know this exists but what caught me off guard was the simple honesty of this guy in admitting it. As one who has had numerous interviews over the past 18 months, I have had to find creative ways of telling a potential employer that I love strategic planning, vision-casting, start-up and development, and execution of the plan...I hate maintenance. I have discovered over the decades that I need a great maintainer at my side to keep the entire thing running. What I have also discovered is that God built far more maintainers than he did entrepreneurs. He is a wise God. What he didn't build are HR people who understand various strengths. I have gotten good at maintenance, I just hate it. The same can be said for the dentist who can still drill and fill, the teachers who tolerate the kids, preachers who find a way to shorten the study cycle, doctors who have found good nurses, and politicians who have found really good staff members who can govern. We all accommodate our own weaknesses. And we soldier on.

The garage door now works better than before (and is quieter) Now my bride can park in the garage. Now I can set my frustration over a brain hiccup to the side and move on. All because some guy overcame his fear of springs with enormous tension, and fixed my mistake.

Godspeed to all those who have some key ingredient in their work that they hate. There is someone out there who loves that part, find them and make them your partner.

Don

Catching Up

2011-10-12T07:35:00.002-05:00

This has been a crazy week. I will probably post on most of the events later when I have more time.

This week is in Houston, which might become a habit. The company I am working with is furnishing a 1-bedroom condo, rather than hotels every night. This is preferred because I can cook my own food, etc. The condo was "fully" furnished..except for trashcans, silverware, cooking utensils, paper towels, tp, bathmats, TV, Wi-Fi, coffee maker, dish drying rack (no dishwasher), any lights or light fixtures in the bedroom, or beddng. To be fair they told me to bring bedding which I did along with towels and kitchen towels. Other than that it was just as they told me. The condo is within walking distance of Reliant Stadium which rests on the old Astrodome location. Apparently Panera nor Starbucks find this to be a valuable location, none in sight. I will say that with no TV or Internet, it is very quiet in that condo, and my kids will appreciate the fact that when there is no one to talk to..I get a little restless.

Working with the company I am in the "wart finding" mode. Technology not where I was told it would be, no inventory systems, no production forecasting or planning; shipping incomplete, scattered customer base, and internal territorial battles, this is my kind of place. Spent Monday night developing a model stock position and am getting resistance from the guy who is supposed to be in charge of this. I bet him lunch that if my system can't get the back order % down less than 3%, then we can go back to his system which is running 11%. So far he has not taken me up on the bet.

Started back in on my deeper disciplines of study and meditation. No TV will do that for you. I started with Mark, only through the first few verses, but already insight is cropping up. God has a nasty way of pointing out my dark thoughts with scripture. The wilderness has been my home for the past couple of years. Mark says that Jesus, after his baptism went into the desert where he spent time with wild animals and angels. In my journal I noted that the wild animals in my life were bitterness and anger, while the angels were our dear friends who have supported us through this. Reflection is not for the faint hearted.

So now I leave the only Starbucks I could find to go back to tilting at windmills.

Godspeed, hope this message in a bottle finds you all well.
Don

36 and Counting

2011-10-04T07:44:00.003-05:00

36 years ago today, my bride and I tied the knot. Apparently it was tied pretty tight. It is a moment in time that I look back down the trail and realize that the journey has been twisting and winding through tough terrain and sometimes easy footing. There have been chills and spills, laughter and tears, fights and loving, and there has been one single person by my side every single step of the way.

When I look back at the wedding pictures of this very young couple it strikes me that we had little to foreshadow the journey that would be ours. There was a brashness in my take on life, and a long-suffering trust by my bride that I could make it work out. I wish I could say that her trust has been affirmed, but in reality her trust was simply a part of her nature and less a knowledge of my abilities. We were young and strong and passionate about life and each other. I have joked over the intervening years that the young couple pictured in the wedding photos died in childbirth. But in reality the young couple still lives just in older, scarred, somewhat less naive bodies.

We have had our share of fights, some of them lasting months and years. There have been moments when one or both of us was unlovable, yet we kept on loving. At times we both wanted to leave, but the obstinate commitment we both cling to would not allow it. Some of the nights have been long and frightful where we would hold each other and cry into the dark, the storm battering our lives, only to wake to a new day with fresh resolve to overcome.

But there has also been a lot of laughter, at ourselves, at life in general. We have been blessed with kids who love to laugh and have brought us new kids through their marriages who love to laugh. It is with great contentment that I watch around a dinner table, all our kids make fun of each other, kid each other about funny events, mock battles over little things like thermostat controls, how to season food, interests that each hold. It is in these moments that I glance at my bride and realize that this bonus, this blessing is because she and I love each other still. I love it when she laughs at the craziness that these 6 adults and 4 (going on 5) little ones bring to us.

It is the reward for a life lived in commitment to a vow we made all those years ago. You see I think love comes and goes. Sometimes this marriage thing is no fun at all. But when two people tie that knot and commit to the relationship then the bounty that comes is worth all the bumps and bruises.

We are smarter now, a little less naive. There is not much we haven't been through, death of parents, illness of children, broken hearts over disappointment, and a constant search for a God of discernment. Yet, we still love the future. We can't wait to see what the world has in store for our little ones. There is no one I would rather grow old with than my bride of 36 years.

Godspeed to those who are just starting the journey, it is a ride that simply can't be explained. For those who started the journey about the time we did, I pray your journey has been as good as ours. For those ahead of us on the trail, it is a joy ti watch your love grow. It gives us courage.
Don

New and Old Words

2011-09-23T10:12:00.003-05:00

This past weekend was a good one for the word-eaters in the world. There were two words that came to the surface. One is real, one is, well, manufactured.

Hyper-correctionists:
We may start a club of H-C. It is the people who correct all spelling and grammar, mis-statements, mis-speaks, etc. The word came up because I couldn't understand why we don't say the "l" in salmon. We pronounce it sam'en (the "e" should be upside down) Apparently the French screwed it up because they didn't pronounce the "l" in their word for the fish..or the color. Anyway, the hyper-correctionists went through some mental gymnastics and added it in. Some nonsense about "l" being silent when followed by an "m" or "d" or whatever. It is my goal to start another movement to get the "l" out of our words! Our bumper sticker would say, "Get the L Out!"

The other word is Tubicle (pronounced toob-ikle). It is where we will all work and play and live in the future. At birth we will be strapped into our tubicle, annodes attached. Then we will travel and learn and live and play inside our tubicle. Eyes taped shut, white noise to cover the emmanations from any neighboring tubicle. Womb to tomb in our tubicle. This is the only way we will be able to find and serve the all allusive god of Security.

The hyper-correctionists are already dissecting the above paragraph. I should have put something in the previous paragraph and laying and lying, or is it lieing? They could have a field day.

Godspeed, remember that the words you use mean something...unless you make them up.
Don

Customized Religion

2011-09-13T08:15:00.003-05:00

In the USA Today there is an article that illustrates a lot if what is wrong and right in the industry of religion. Using the polling data of George Barna (long time religious pollster, author of several books) He tracks the basic tenets of the christian world-view and how people shift their views from one decade to the next.

What do you think?
In a typical week, U.S. adults who say they:
Read Bible outside the church:
1991: 45%
2011: 40%
Volunteered at church:
1991: 27%
2011: 19%
Attended adult Sunday school:
1991: 23%
2011: 15%
Attended worship:
1991: 49%
2011: 40%

Those who say they:
Accept Jesus and expect to be saved:
1991: 35%
2011: 40%
Call Bible "totally accurate" in all principles:
1991: 46%
2011: 38%
Define God as all-knowing, all-powerful ruler:
1991: 74%
2011: 67%

This is quote from the article:
Barna blames pastors for those oddly contradictory findings. Everyone hears, "Jesus is the answer. Embrace him. Say this little Sinners Prayer and keep coming back. It doesn't work. People end up bored, burned out and empty," he says. "They look at church and wonder, 'Jesus died for this?'"

I think this is a little harsh on the pastors. It is my view that the culture has changed so fundamentally that we regard all organizations be it government, school, home, or church to be basically flawed and unable to respond to the needs and desires of the individual. The above findings are not a rejection of all things spiritual, quite the contrary. If you delve a little deeper into the stats and dialogue with those who have stepped away from organized religion, you will find people who care deeply about their beliefs and their spiritual walks. They simply are not buying into the ability or motivation of the located church to achieve those goals.

My bride and I are probably typical of what is going on (lest you think all this erosion of the influence of the organizational churches lie with the young) We regularly attend a located church, but do so because a majority of our little community of faith show up there most Sundays. But we tithe (when we have income to tithe with) to an assortment of faith-based groups. We donate time and energy to Habitat for Humanity. We engage our neighbors in fellowship which leads to a sharing of our lives and their lives in spiritual "talk". We each follow our own spiritual discipline routine. This is all independent of the located organization. We have been dis-enfranchised by the located church, but we have not felt that this has deeply impacted our spiritual walk. In fact, it is the opposite. We have found that it has made us more appreciative of deep thinking and relevant conversation. This view is rampant in the next few generations below us. It encourages me that these younger generations are willing to look beyond the traditions and look for relevance in their lives. They are willing to embrace the "organic" nature of spiritual living and perfectly willing to reject the formulated, organizational church.

Anyway, interesting reading.

Godspeed, we don't need more churches, we need more spirit-walkers.
Don

He Knows My Name

2011-09-06T07:07:00.003-05:00

I have a Maker
He formed my heart
Before even time began
My life was in his hands

I have a Father
He calls me His own
He'll never leave me
No matter where I go

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call

It is my experience that we all have moments in our lives that I call "wilderness time". It is time spent removed from the pace and flurry of all we find familiar. There have been a couple of these moments in my life. They can last for years, at least they have for me. The past couple of years has been wilderness time for me.

These wilderness moments do not reflect a loss of desire to follow the One. In fact, it is usually a time of incredible pursuit, of learning to live with the thundering silence, of living the disciplines when there is little or no reward. But it is also a time of great discernment, a time of learning, a time of appreciating the path not the goal.

But we are not led out of these moments in a dazzling flash of insight. There is no "aha" moment that signals the end of the wilderness time. There is no sudden thrust into the "busy-ness" of religious or secular life. I have found that it is a slow awakening. This past weekend I watched my youngest grandson try to wake from a long afternoon nap, snuggled close to his momma's neck, arms folded in close to her as he tried to make that transition from deep sleep to awake and interaction. It is this analogy of slowly finding our way back into the flow of life and service that marks the end of the wilderness time.

In the same way as my grandson, I find myself slowly transitioning back. As stressful as the wilderness time can be, it is still the moment that I find myself in. So I want to move slowly to make sure it is happening. When you have been through the time you begin to see and understand the early signs that the wilderness time is coming to an end. You can again perceive the words and warnings of others. My dear friends this weekend pointed out that my sense of humor was coming back, but it is still a little caustic. Only close and good friends can point that out and get away with it, and they were right. When one is still in the wilderness, you do not catch these early signs.

The song above has been on my mind for 2 days now. A sign that the wilderness is thinning a bit. I can hear the sounds of social civilization. You see part of the wilderness time is the thundering silence of God. I believe that the song is stuck in my head by Him. He knows my name..He knows my every thought..He sees each tear over the last couple of years..and He hears me when I call and cry and am left without words..

He knows my name..

Godspeed
Don

Hope, Sometimes Visitor

2011-09-02T08:37:00.002-05:00

This was written almost 3 months ago

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life."

I ran across this quote in my disciplines and pondered it for quite some time. Each of the major words speak to me and this story that I find myself in. You see, I find myself in a spot where hope has been deferred, it has been set aside by evidence that shakes what I had envisioned as the remainder of my life. I had hoped that things would work out quickly. I had hoped that this disruption would produce different results. But I have learned that hope and faith are two different things. Faith can be fostered. It can be grown. I can manage faith. Hope has a life of its own. Hope is subject to critical evaluation of what is happening and following the thought string out to the end. When the results of that pursuit lead to diminished result, hope suffers. I am finding that hope wanders in and out of my day and my life at will. I struggle with the concept of "losing all hope" except in the very short term because hope will return, sometimes on a whim. It would make more sense to me to say that I don't know where hope is right now, it is not lost, it is just not visiting me at the moment.

Faith is the discipline of living a life that expects hope to return. It may not be today or tomorrow, but it will return. We live expecting the hope that is our promise to resurface. I often confuse the two. This past year has opened my eyes to possibility that while I cling to and nurture my faith through the disciplines, that hope is a serendipity that shows up and confirms the faith that I have jealously guarded. Do you realize that the rabbi (often confused as a carpenter) spoke and cajoled and reprimanded endlessly on faith and never once mentioned hope? He knew that if we focused on our faith that hope would follow when the faith is confirmed. Look it up, hope ain't there in the Stories.

When I go through a tough, extended time of stress, it is my faith that gets the most work. The questions of what and how and when are filtered through the prism of my faith that it will all work out in the end. Hope is a faulty golf swing, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

If you know someone struggling with this work/career/destiny thing, encourage them in their faith. I can only DO what I have been told is faithful, not particularly hopeful.

By the way, the quote above was from the guy we all say was "wise" Of course he had dozens of wives and concubines, so go figure.

Godspeed, keep the faith, bro.
Don

Not Funny

2011-08-31T12:43:00.004-05:00

Written about 3 weeks ago

There are a number of old sayings that promote the concept of laughter as healing. By and large this has been well served in my lifetime. While some people may not appreciate my sense of humor, they cannot deny that I have one. If you just scan back over all these posts you will find humor sprinkled through most of the blogs. There is some conjecture that my sense of humor may be a little off the main path, but laughter is laughter and I enjoy the play of humor in my life and those around me.

It is not the ability to tell a joke, or laugh with others when they relate a funny story. What has been taken from me in this extended crisis is the ability to look at life from a certain perspective. What has changed is my particular bent on the events around me. I find people funny, I find circumstances (even traumatic circumstances) funny, the oddities of life are funny to me. But somewhere in the past year my take on the world has become more cynical. Even in the midst of realizing this, there seems to be little to help me revert to my normal self. This change has been more like a rheostat being dimmed slightly, or slightly more over time. There wasn't the sense that someone just turned off the light of humor, it is that the rheostat was lowered slowly, almost imperceptibly. Then I wake up one day ad realize my take on the world is just not as much fun as it used to be.

And just as slowly the light is beginning to brighten. Over the last several weeks it has become easier to find the humor even in the most stressful of events. Why? Because I am working again, all day effort to make some small companies into more significant companies. There is still the worry over money and future, but the occupation of my mind with plans and strategies have brightened my take on the world around me.

For those who have put up with this dour attitude over the past year, I apologize. To my bride I simply want to say that you have been beyond helpful. There is simply no way I survive the past trauma without you. It always amazes me that you exhibit the strength you possess. Times are getting better, you deserve the payoff. We have had a few laughs in the past year, but they have come at too high a price.

I am taking back my life, one way or the other. That way my particular slant on all that surrounds us will return. For those who are going through this, or married to someone who is going through this, give them a little slack, everything is harder to maintain. Give them the freedom to vent just a little, to let it all out. It helps.

Godspeed to those who are looking down the barrel of this particular malady. Take back who you are...it is not theirs to own.
Don

Doubts

2011-08-31T12:33:00.001-05:00

This was written over a month ago.

16 months of unemployment have created a new ability to doubt. It is probably the most common malady of the unemployed. We have spent a lifetime developing skills and abilities only to hit a moment in time where we are being told everyday that those skills, while worthwhile, can't be afforded. It is an insidious erosion of what we believe and hold dear.

So everyday I wake up and spend some portion of my morning convincing myself that "today is the day, where someone will recognize their need for my abilities." And yet here I am almost 500 days down the road and the future is even more unclear than it was before. This inscrutable rejection is hard to fathom.

You begin to doubt your worth. Has this all been just a cosmic joke somehow? As most of you know I am believer and practitioner of the spiritual disciplines. Frugality or simplicity are part of this lifestyle. My prayers and meditation, along with my study and reflection all point towards living a life of simplicity, but it is not simply for the sake of the discipline. It is to bend my will to the glory of God. But when life's circumstances, particularly over a long period of time indicate that the discipline is futile, the doubt creeps in. Why bother with it, when the results are the same as that of a pagan. Why am I being rejected when I have submitted to a lifestyle that few even know about? Has my life lost worth in the sight of the One who determines all that is worthy? In an emotional breakdown not long ago I confessed to my bride that this past year has been wasted. I have been put on hold. The doubts are rampant about who I am and what value I hold for the world around me.

Here I am at 4AM on a Sunday morning, contemplating a leading prayer for a church where I don't know most of the people, interceding for a God who has grown largely silent over the past year.. and I doubt. Honesty does not seem to be the most prudent path. Yet, honesty should be the key element for a community of faith. But I doubt the entire premise that it will simply work out. In this moment of early morning reflection, it feels that I have been rejected both by God and by those who profess to follow Him. And still I struggle to find the words that will reveal both His glory and His compassion.

In this moment of despair, when I feel like walking away I find the words of Jesus ringing in my ears as I am sure they did to those so many centuries ago, "Will you leave me as well?" When do we get to consider this question? It is certainly not the politically correct question. But the answer also keeps coming to mind, "Where else can we go? Who else has the answers?" Peter found a way to express the tension that I find myself in. This doubt was not created by unemployment, just manifested in the circumstance. I believe we all live with the question and the doubt. Where else can I turn? Who else holds these truths? In a culture that is crumbling, a church that has lost its way, and a man who has entered the "second half" these questions are bitter and also needed.

So I will spend a part of today convincing myself that today is the day. That if I stay on the journey, it will eventually level out a little. And at some point today, maybe just maybe, there will be a small token of confidence manifested in me. Who knows?

Godspeed to the rejected of this journey. We will find a way. Push the doubts from your mind, breath in and out, step forward, only in faithful action will doubts be diminished.
Don

A New Reality

2011-08-30T07:08:00.002-05:00

Over the past several weeks I have been writing blogs that have not been published. They center around the last year or more regarding my unemployment or dramatic under-employment. They are as honest as I know how to be. The blogs focus on the three things that I believe are the "collateral damage" of extended unemployment. You will notice a distinct omission of the struggles of no income. That part is assumed. What I have tried to convey are the losses that are evident but harder to articulate. My hope is that if you know someone who is in this crisis that these posts will make you a little more understanding. I also hope that if you are in this situation that you will find a kindred spirit in my writing. Sometimes this simple act of connecting helps the path get a little smoother, a little more level.

There are three issues that have grown more and more evident as time goes on. Three things that were taken for granted. Over the past year I have begun to doubt who I am and what I thought I could do. Doubt is a huge de-stabilizer in our psyche. There have not been many times that I spend much time doubting, I have always simply "moved ahead" and found the path usually led to a better place.
Secondly, I have lost a large portion of my humor. This loss, in particular, makes me bitter. Humor has been and always should be a defense against what the world tends to dump on us.
Finally, I have lost hope. This one floats in and out, causing great comfort on certain days and vast despair on others.

Some of these will be recognizable to all of us in some dose. We have been extraordinarily blessed with a very small and loving community of faith who have helped us through this time. One couple has been especially generous with their money, and always at just the right time. Another couple has been generous with smaller gifts, even when they had nothing to give, it came out of their own struggles. Another family changed their lifestyle to fit our needs, so that we could continue to do fun things, but at little or no expense. It is this small community that sustained us, kept us sane, and held us close. When they said, "We continue to pray for you." it meant a great deal because they backed it up with action. The most annoying people were those who assumed they had spiritual influence and would say, " we are praying for you." after a time all I heard was, "Be warmed and filled." Great, not much help there. Read James 2 again and tell me what help prayer with no action means.

So the next few posts may seem a bit dreary. Sorry. I had to muster up the courage to post them. It is tough to be revelatory and funny.

Tomorrow will see the first post.

Godspeed to those who are in this abyss. Hang on to your esteem, your humor, and your hope.
Don

Habitat for Humanity

2011-08-23T07:29:00.002-05:00

I am writing this post on a dare from my bride. We worked on a Habitat for Humanity project last weekend and when we were headed back to the house she commented to our friends that there would certainly be a blog about the event. So I have spent the last four days trying to decide how to answer this challenge. Should I not write the blog and show her? or should I write it and acknowledge the fact that she knows me all too well. Hence the blog.

Our friend Doug (you may remember him and his bride, Janet, from the "boot camp" entry) investigated and recruited us to go with them this past Saturday to help on a house in Waxahachie with HfH. My bride and I have been starved for a good service project ever since the mission trips to Mexico stopped a year or so ago. So we pulled out our Army/Navy surplus fatigues, our work shirts, gloves, and hats and we all rode down to Waxahachie (after a stop for some scalding McDonald's coffee..really, it needs to be hot enough to melt a silver spoon?) for a morning of house building.

When we arrived there were the obligatory introductions, the standing around for instructions, and the conjecture about how hot it would get before noon. By the way, by noon it was over 100. The girls were tasked to helping with the garage, Doug and I were assigned to the framing of the walls. The wall framing was going to require some heavy lifting. I did not inform the powers-that-be that my bride was every bit as strong as I am and less vocal. They would learn soon enough.

Someone had ingeniously marked all the boards literally telling us where to nail them together, where to place them. There were all kinds of little tricks, some I knew, some were new to me. I realized after about an hour, it had been years since I did that much hammering, and when I did it as a kid on the farm it was without the benefit of bifocals. I can still drive a nail, but I can't drive several sequentially without resting. To tattle just a little on my buddy, Doug, he hit his own finger, which was a good 2" away from the nail. After a certain amount of grimacing and an outward show of controlling his language, he asserted that the hammer ricocheted off the nail and hit his finger...sure. There were new terms used, a "bottom plate" goes along the foundation and is the anchor for all the framing. Anyone want to guess at what the "top plate" is? I knew what "studs" were, I have spent a life time missing them while trying to hang pictures and shelves. However, to put in a window, you have to have a "stud" and a "cripple". Doug and I spent most of the morning trying to decide who they were talking about, the "stud" or the "cripple" After Doug smashed his own finger I think the argument was over. The girls shifted over to our work area when the work on the garage slowed. So we all got to work in the same area for a little while.

My bride and I have learned after all these mission trips to Mexico, that everyone needs a sense of humor. We have been down there with guys who took it way to seriously and sucked a lot of the fun out of it for the rest of us. It is a little disheartening to be shoveling gravel and rock while the "leader" of the group stands on a high spot and "surveys" the work flow. Grab a shovel high-pockets, it is a much more effective management style than barking orders and hob-nobbing with the actual boss. All that said to say that the guys in charge did not have a great sense of fun. My bride will tell you that I take that as a personal challenge. After a pretty long morning the guy in charge of our little group had not smiled and only spoke when telling us we were doing it wrong. At one point he was going to show us how to "toe-nail" the window sill before setting the sill in the frame. Okay, I know how to do this, but we had not done that way in the first wall section. So he grabs the hammer from Janet and proceeds to bend about six nails.I could feel his frustration and embarrasment rising as each nail tilted in the wrong direction. With five of us standing around, dutifully watching him bend nails, I said to the group, "Yeah, this looks a lot easier." All but one laughed. We spent some time at lunch trying to parse the difference between smart-aleck and smart-ass. The straw-boss probably would have liked some input. My bride indicated that I might be both.

There was a lot of telling what to do, then griping that we didn't do it right. At the end of the morning the project foreman told us to "dump all the tools in the back of his truck" We did, then had to unstack it and do it "right" Okay, you can tell me what to do, or how to do it, but not both.

All that aside, I loved talking to the guy who will live in the house. He was out there working harder than any of us. He had a great sense of humor and seemed like a nice guy. The house was really small, probably less than 1200 sq/ft. He would live there with his wife and three kids. It made me appreciate again what I have and the simple good fortune that brought it to me. There was the usual good feeling of doing something good for someone else simply because I could. I love the sore muscles, the hands and fingers nicked from the hard work. The sense that, at least for a small portion of one day, I had done something for someone else. Setting aside the "me-world" for "you-world" always brings a smile to my face and my heart. This to me is true religion.

Godspeed to the travelers who find a little joy in helping others lift their packs.
Don

Heaven or Hell or Both?

2011-08-16T07:55:00.001-05:00

A friend of mine, who was raised in west Texas, says what he remembers from the Sunday morning sermons was this simple message, "Jesus loves you and you are going to hell." He has spent quite a few decades since then trying to find a firm footing in the Kingdom. There are probably more than a few of us that have struggled with our "confidence" in the great uncounting.

Recently I read an article by Oliver Thomas called Should Believers Fear Hell - and God? It was essentially a book review of the Rob Bell book titled Love Wins. The premise is that the religious world has used the concept of hell to herd us all in the right direction. Fear is the motivating factor. Religious groups use the concept as a very heavy stick to either quell the pagan uprising within their midst, or they use it to deeply etch a line in the dirt between believers and pagans.

My problem with this MO is that ultimately folks will rebel against the heavy-handed, proprietary nature of this stance. Secondly, I think it is simply wrong, not error wrong, morally wrong. If you have raised kids you will know that long term motivation through fear simply breeds resentment, not righteousness.

I haven't read the book, but I plan to. Over the past 10 years or so I have re-evaluated almost all my preconceptions about all things religious, so there is no reason to believe this one will be any different. So here is the analogy the article and apparently the book used. If your child broke all moral codes, murdered someone, fell into an alternate lifestyle, bad decisions, whatever; would the punishment fit the crime by flinging them into a fire FOREVER? Would we as parents feel this was an appropriate response? Would we feel that justice was done?
Or would we try every way within our power to extend mercy?

Love to hear from you.

Godspeed, tough questions always fire me up.
Don

Looking for Clues

2011-08-13T06:14:00.002-05:00

Most of you who know me this has been an interesting year. Unemployment, dramatic underemployment, surgeries on my some of my precious grandkids, and of course the usual spiritual quest has made this a year of reflection, of frustration, and realization that there are people in my life who love me in spite of all my annoying ways.

It is one of the truly remarkable facets of the human creature that in the midst of adversity, as more things turn against us, that we look for the first hint of spring. We are blessed/cursed with the anticipation of the first warming breeze that tells us that the grass will grow, the flowers will bloom, and the first warming rays of God's love will fall on our upturned face.

This past week has been particularly stressful. This past week was filled with tough negotiations that will have dramatic impact on what happens to us over the next few months. The continued drought and heat were a perfect reflection of trying to make things work in the face of incredible pressure. Prayers have been tough and spiritual disciplines have been tested like few times in the past. It was as if life was saying, "I've knocked you down, just stay there. Stay down." But there is simply something in my nature that will not allow my "staying down." I'm sure there are those who would characterize my approach to life as dumb and durable, but it doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt and the desire to quit is not there. It just has to be ignored.

You spend some time each day looking for clues of improvement. Serendipitous occurrences that begin to point the needle north. People return calls. A bill comes in lower than expected rather than higher. Someone says something encouraging rather than critical. All of these could be the clue.

But this morning early I woke up to the strangest sound...rain. Rain on the roof and falling from the eaves and into the flowerbed outside the bedroom window. I have no idea how long it has been since rain came and actually formed puddles on the sidewalk. Cooling the ground and the air. Bed could not hold me even at 5AM on a Saturday morning. I had to see this. So I stood on the back porch and let the rain soak into my hair, breathing deep that special smell of fresh rain on a parched yard.

A clue for better things to come? I hope so. It lifted my spirits and my hopes.

Godspeed, the air is fresh and new. Hope springs eternal when you have eternal hope.
Don

Things Forgotten

2011-08-06T08:14:00.002-05:00

Yesterday was one of those days where you plan for it, then regret the obligation, then are glad you carried through. All of that said, I traveled to Abilene to see my dad and pick up a dresser that my youngest had claimed after it cleared waivers through the rest of the family.

When I got out there a little after lunch, we visited a bit then got to work. You have to understand my dad. He has been saying for a couple of years that they need to sell the old farm place where I was raised because it is too old, needs too much work, and is pretty isolated. So they got a contract on the place contingent on the buyers selling their place. This means it could be a month away or 6 months away. Dad has no patience for 6 month events. So they started packing...NOW!

After we had dismantled the dresser, hauled all the parts downstairs and into the Blazer, we set to work packing pictures. It was a discovery to realize that different people collect different things. Dad and his wife collect pictures. There are pictures of kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, parents, bridal portraits from 5 generations. Then the usual who-the-heck-is-this? all three of us standing there figuratively scratching our heads and wondering if we were all losing it in some group dementia event. There were pictures on walls (by the way, I was a very cute baby, not so much as an adult) on top of dressers, under beds, in closets. We packed boxes and boxes of the things. It is going to be a feat to untangle all this, my dad was packing things away that I am pretty sure will never again see the light of day.

We talked about who was going to get what furniture, what needed to sold, what needed to be moved to the other house. It was a day of realizing that when two families merge 27+ years ago, there is a lot of shared stuff.

One funny incident. Margaret and I were looking at my mother's old silver and she noticed that all the knives did not match the set. We speculated that they must have switched some, or maybe mom replaced some. We ran through all the possibilities, puzzled by the non-conformity. Then I flipped one of the non-matched ones over and realized that the pattern was different depending on which side you were looking at. They all matched when you turn them the same way. We shared an embarrassed laugh about our silliness. Maybe we can get a ward at the nut-house or a group rate.

As I drove home, it occurred to me that this was a healthy separation event for me. I was raised on that farm, it is a lot of who I am. The lessons of hard work, of patience for letting the seasons work, of cherishing the people in our lives and not the stuff were all learned on that farm. I had forgotten about so much of the THINGS that made up my youth, but as I held and looked I was reminded that each of these things reminded me of someone, or an event involving someone that was so important to me. The old Victrola was a favorite piece of furniture for my mom because Dad found it and bought it and gave it to her as a gift. The old tractor where I spent hours on hours discing, harrowing, grain-drilling, hauling hay. I have no place for it except in my memory and my heart. It reminds me of Dad. There is his old desk that he used for decades at his office, then later at home. It is sitting now ready to be sold. All memories of a childhood spent in far more interesting ways than I can recount here.

Yes, these things will pass from our family. But the memories are here to stay. They say that mortality is marked by the last person to remember your name. I think mortality is marked by our memories and I think one of the blessings of heaven may be our good memories from time spent here, in the time of "no forgetting"

Godspeed, the journey will grow steeper, the loss of those close to us will mark our own days. But yesterday was a good day to reflect, to honor, to appreciate all that has been done for me by those who may not be with me for the rest of the journey.
Don

A Mixed Bag

2011-07-30T07:27:00.002-05:00

Yesterday we received the news that a friend from a couple of years ago had passed away. Via Facebook, his wife had kept everyone in the loop about his illness, about the hospice decision, about the constant wear and tear of caring for a failing companion . The news, as is usually the case in terminal illnesses was one of sorrow and of relief. I remember these feelings well from the time of my mother's illness and death.

So we got up this morning and are preparing to go to a wedding. That's right a wedding of a young couple that we had met when they attended a class I was teaching. They are bright and funny, loving and a little older than when we got married. It is an outdoor, thankfully early wedding in Texas. I am looking forward to it.

Yesterday I sent a Facebook note of condolences to our friend and her family and then early this morning sent a text of encouragement and congratulations to the groom. Both notes came out of a deep pool of spiritual concern and discernment. It reminded me again that this life is one of deep, dark sorrow and exhilarating joy, sometimes in the same moment. In my own way I was trying to let one family know that God loves them and we love them and on the other hand I was trying to let a young man know that...God loves him and we love him. Both of these gestures were made out of the same motivation, but to opposite ends of the human emotional spectrum.

This journey has a lot of exits and on-ramps, sometimes within just a few feet of each other.

Godspeed, we travel with folks going in a lot of different directions.
Don

The Story

2011-07-29T08:06:00.002-05:00

Last weekend my bride and I traveled north to McKinney to keep the youngest grandbaby while his parents had a real "date." They headed out for sushi and then spent the evening at Starbucks just visiting. The boy went to bed and stayed down until well past the time his parents came home. We spent the night and went to church with them the next morning. Well, actually, they went to teach the 4 and 5 yr olds, we stayed home with Isaac until he was ready to head for church. So we got there in time for the assembly.

I love visiting other communities of faith. Seeing what they find important. This one seems pretty healthy, a nice blend of ages, lots of kids, and friendly but not in a forced way. My guess is that their leadership does more right than wrong, which may be unique in its own way.

Anyway, the entire assembly time was spent launching an initiative around a packaged group product called "The Story." At first I was a little off put by the idea. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made to me. It is my opinion that most churches have opted out of the scripture. They use what little they have to justify what they think needs to be done, but most simply don't just herd the crowd into scripture and see where the Spirit will lead them. The community last Sunday at least has said "for the next 31 weeks, we are going to spend all our time in the Story"

Also, I like the approach. It is a chronological approach to scripture from beginning to end, selected scripture, but panoramic in the scope. The primary quest is this, "What is God wanting to do?" I am assuming that the application will come over time. For now, though, the journey is one of discovery, to stand quietly and simply listen to the story. To ponder the scope of it, to let it lead us where we need to go. This has the potential to change the trajectory of this community of faith for decades to come.

Could this be done without a pre-packaged initiative? Yes, and it might be better, however, the staff is tasked in such diverse ways that they don't have the time to develop the entire project. The spiritual leaders probably aren't trained or guided to do it, so the easier path is probably the better path. I hope this changes their lives, I hope it opens their hearts and minds to the mission that God has followed since the very beginning.

As this all percolated in my head, I wondered why I couldn't do something here in my neighborhood. What if I could gather a few neighbors and convince them somehow that I want them to bring their lives into this initiative, just as I will mine. Wouldn't a shared, diverse experience really be stimulating? My temptation is to believe that my experience is the only one that has value. But if I can set that aside for a moment and listen to those who were not raised in this part of the country, who were not raised in my tribe, who have not been blessed like I have, but in other ways, wouldn't that have value as we look at the story?

It is my opinion that the spiritual renewal that we all feel must take place will be far from the masonry of the white steeples. It will be in the living rooms of the ones who are wandering...and wondering.

Godspeed, the journey may have some unexpected turns.
Don

The Shore

2011-07-13T08:35:00.009-05:00

Most of my crowd spent last week in Ocean City, NJ. We had anticipated for several months this trip. We were anxious to see the beach and the ocean, to hit the boardwalk and tour Philadelphia just a little. Since Ocean City is alcohol-free we did not think we would see Snookie or the Situation. And sure 'nuff, we didn't.

The days fell into a predictable routine. I would get up around 6AM and make coffee. I would have 30 minutes to an hour for my disciplines. Then a few of the adults (starting with my youngest daughter) would wander through looking for breakfast and coffee. At 10AM or so we would storm the beaches, arms loaded with folding chairs, beach toys, skimmer board and snacks. 11:30 or so, back to house for a rinse off, lunch, and nap. 2PM or so, back to the beach for another couple of hours of sand and surf. Back to the house where my eldest daughter and I would whip up dinner. The line-up was Shrimp-n-pasta in foil; crab cakes (the package said "crab flavored seafood" hmm) tempura whiting (a fish..never heard of it) shrimp quesadillas. Do you see a trend? Our Kansas-bred s-i-l said he was going to fix a big steak when he got home.
This is how most days ended.

We spent the night of the 4th watching fireworks on the boardwalk where our 4-yr-old granddaughter was not a big fan. Her mother suddenly remembered that she did this at DisneyWorld as well. Thanks, good timing. Lots of families on the boardwalk, no roving college kids, you know the whole alcohol deal. We ate ice cream, bought tee-shirts, Eli bought a skimmer board. So we helped the OC economy.

A couple of things left a lasting impression. One: I swept the floor twice everyday and collected a pile of sand and the floor still felt gritty. Two: This crowd eats an amazing amount of bread and chips. We plowed through at least 5 loaves of bread and a bag of chips at every meal. Three: Outdoor shower was a life saver. More sand ended up there than anywhere else. Four: Getting to and from Philadelphia is hard, particularly when the day we were leaving they had all kinds of thunderstorms. We got home about 1:30AM. Five: Atlantic ocean water is MUCH colder than Gulf of Mexico water..and the waves are bigger. We almost lost Nena to a couple of big waves. I looked out and could only find her big, floppy hat floating in the surf. Fortunately, she was attached to it underneath. She came up sputtering, but still had her sunglasses on and a wide, sheepish grin on her face. Later we found out she had a pretty good bruise on her leg as well. Six: when kids are tired the time is takes for them to melt down is milliseconds. Seven: We had at least one moment where all the kids and most of the adults needed to be in "time out" Eight: slow internet is worse than no internet.
This may be only action shot of all three grandkids in the same frame:

And like most families you need a planner and builder. Don't these two look like they are scoping out a place for the beach house? Never mind that it is a public beach, they will find a way.

So a great time by all. We are blessed to be able to enjoy each other, to eat and laugh and play practical jokes. Nena and I got to soak in all the time and joy and moments.

Godspeed to all out there who get to share their love and lives with those dear to them.
Don

The Sandbar

2011-07-07T14:20:00.004-05:00

Several years ago I read or heard about an analogy of life that has stuck with me. It is certainly not original with me, but I don't know who gets the credit. Basically the analogy is that life is a like a river with a long series of sandbars. We each occupy our specific spot on our sandbar in our section of the river. Those who have lived before us are upstream and those who have come along after us are downstream. If we look downstream we see that the river is calmer and wider and filled with people. Some are our kids and grandkids. Some belong to others, but the stream is crowded and the water is slow and the footing seems sure. Upstream we can see that the water is moving swiftly, that the footing is treacherous, and the crowd has thinned and thinning considerably. We look around us on our sandbar, at our contemporaries and realize that while our footing is not quite as sure as it once was, we are still firmly set and can handle the ebb and flow of the river.

Occasionally we see someone whisk by that we knew. If they are parents or grandparents we mourn the fact that at last they lost their footing and slipped from a sandbar far ahead. But we hear the roar of the rapids ahead and realize our fate will mirror theirs.

Rarely we glance back and see the ones downstream lose their footing, by accident, or not having a firm spot to begin with, sometimes knocked off balance by another. We are stunned that they are gone so soon.It always comes as an overwhelming loss because it is so unexpected.

This past week a man that I had been friends with had passed away. He occupied my sandbar at least for a time. My bride and I had vacationed with he and his bride. Our sons were best of friends from 1st grade through about 9th grade. We shared our families, we laughed, there were spats, and we all seemed pretty secure in our footing. He was born with a congenital heart defect, but defied the odds and lived to adulthood, then on into middle age. He was not perfect, but none of us are. He struggled with with a lot of issues, but always seemed confident in his spiritual walk. We lost track after he and his wife divorced. His wife wanted out. When I tried to mediate, the effort was rejected along with the relationship of the two couples. This is often the fate of the mediator. We are viewed as part of the entire traumatic event and are part of the "closed door." You have to understand this as a mediator.

So the river shifted and he lost his footing. It caused me pause to glance around and realize that the sandbar is a little less crowded. There was not overwhelming remorse, but a sort of unfocused regret. We had lost touch, more of his doing than mine, but I could have pushed a little more. This event will become moire common as time goes on. It is a wonder to me that we humans are the only creature that has knowledge of their own demise, yet we are the only creature that functions from an attitude of hope. We know we will ultimately lose our footing in the river, but we live looking ahead, with joy and hope and anticipation. It is this dichotomy that sends me each day into a time of reflection and wonder.

Godspeed, Tommy and good traveling into the great uncounting.

Don

Family Reunion

2011-06-28T08:52:00.004-05:00

Okay it is really my bride's family since my side of the family has decided to call an end to the hostilities and not meet at all. But my bride's extended family on her mother's side gets together every year in Dublin, Texas. Yes, that Dublin Texas, home of the original Dr. Pepper. They still make and bottle the original recipe in the small 8 oz bottles with the cardboard six-pack carrier. I have sworn off most soft drinks, so when I taste one of these "originals" it can generate a diabetic shock on its own. There are always some stacked around, but I was not tempted.

At one end of the age spectrum is my bride's great uncle, Uncle Joe. 91, walks with a cane, never married. The family always attributed this to the "shell-shock" of WWII. I think he probably got back from WWII and decided one war in a lifetime was enough. When my bride was a little girl she was one of a dozen of the generation that traipsed around the countryside of Erath County with Uncle Joe. Swimming in the "jenny hole" crossing the train trestle nearby, and usually collecting a pretty good assortment of chigger and bug bites along the way. For her generation he is an icon of country wisdom. Aunt Jean (his slightly younger sister) is the only other sibling left of the original 12 kids. She is country and sometimes coarse and often crude, but honest and straight forward and makes me laugh. I hope if I am still around at that age I can keep the younger group laughing and honest. She raised three kids who are like her, rough, honest, and funny. I like them.

At the other end of the spectrum is my own 21 month old grandson, Lincoln. He was the charmer of the party, chasing around with my other grand kids Eli and Phoebe. So we had at least 5 generations there (only 32 people) All connected by family either of birth or marriage, notated by the long family tree chart that we were supposed to update with new births, deaths, and marriages. 5 generations.

As I watched these generations interact it occurred to me that as far as lifestyle was concerned, they had little in common. Uncle Joe and Jean were essentially farm people. Canning their own vegetables, catching/killing/butchering their own meat, making their clothes was familiar to them and foreign to rest of us. WWII was a tsunami of cultural change. Men returned from the war and most (unlike Uncle Joe) never returned to the farm. The entered "business" My dad came home and went to optometry college, my bride's father, though not in the military went into business. Each successive generation has moved further and further from the farm. We went from producing our own substances of life to paying others to produce it. Technology has moved us further from the interaction of substance of life to the multitasking of management over others producing for us.

All of this made me wonder if culturally we adapt as people to the societal change or do we change as people and thus change the culture. Would I have made a very good farmer? I love interaction with people, with new ideas, with new challenges. Would I have just been that farmer that was just annoying to all the quiet farmers? Or because I was already one generation removed from the farm that I adapted to a lifestyle that fit the moment? How will Eli and Phoebe and Lincoln and Isaac have to adapt? As a 21 month old, Lincoln knows the rudimentary advantages of his mother having an I-phone on which he can watch movies. Can Uncle Joe adapt to this new innovation, or should he? Probably not.

But fundamentally how does this change us? I read an article about a book from a guy named Nick Carr called The Shallows: How the Internet is Affecting our Minds The basic premise being that we as a culture have lost the ability to concentrate, to think, to muse. That the preeminent talent today is multitasking. This struck a chord with me because it seems to me that we have lost the importance of being discerning. We communicate in soundbites, we think in bumper stickers, our relationships are paper thin and a mile wide.

I am going with my kids on a trip next week. Can I go the entire week without my Blackberry?(yes, it is old technology) my laptop? Facebook? LinkedIn? Can I unplug for 5 days? It makes me queasy thinking about it. But more importantly, can I spend a portion of each day in silence? in meditation? musing? wondering? reflecting? Which life would Uncle Joe understand best? Is there a value in teaching each of my grand kids to think, to wonder, to sit and ponder?

Family reunions may be the last place where all these generations come together for one last look at what has been, and to wonder what will be.

Godspeed again, the journey continues.
Don

Old Friends

2011-06-16T06:53:00.002-05:00

It seems over the past few years my bride and I have come across the friends we accumulated through the years. Facebook has reconnected us to high school friends and people we barely knew from high school. Circumstances have brought us together through college reunions and events that we knew from those formative college days, more years ago than I care to admit. One looked me up to ask for the phone number of another..should my feelings be hurt? Naw, he was like that in college. He wouldn't get it.

Let me say that we have all changed. For some reason the guys, though older, I can more easily recognize. Some of the women I couldn't pick out of a line up. By and large we have all gained a few pounds, we have all gotten grayer, our bodies have shifted. All of us carry scars from the battles fought in business, in church, in families, and in marriage. Some of the folks we knew as young couples are couples no more. Some have taken a mulligan in that arena and we recognize them even less. Most of us have kids that had kids, and the constant seems to be the worry over them all. There are constants that work for each one of us, death, loss, worry mingled and mixed with joy, contentment, and settlement.

This past week we were able to spend a few precious hours with some friends that we have known for years. My friend Don and I met when we were in about the 6th grade. Even though he moved away in high school, we kept up and remained good friends through college and all the years since then. When and he and Gay met, she blended right in with our crowd. So we had some time to sit and visit about all the circling constellations of our lives. Sitting on their deck overlooking the lake, drinking a really good cab and just connecting.

So how does this happen? How can we miss some really important years in each other's lives, then pick up like we had only missed them last weekend? Nothing had changed. The jokes were funny (cab talking?) We were able to open the locked closet of fear and anguish and let each other peek inside. We saw and I'm sure they saw the continued smoking cannons from our marriage wars. How can this be? There have been some desperate times in their marriage and in ours, yet the bond felt as close and tight as ever. Why do we blend some people even in face of absence, and can't make that bond with people we see everyday? I will tell you there is only a very small hand full of people who fit this category for me. Perhaps it is as simple as my inability to have and to hold close a great number of friends. We have some friends now in our lives that I feel is as close as my own biological family. If we were to be separated through life events, then reunite way down the road, it would only be a moment to reconnect. But these people are far fewer than you would imagine.

On the other hand, there are people that we were once close to that we can't seem to regarner the feeling. They have grown old and odd to us. They have strange pastimes and their kids have strange lives. I'm sure we look as strange to them as they do to us. Getting glimpses of the old high school friends has been an eye-opener. Reunion is next year and looking less and less likely.

Is this just me? I don't think so. For whatever reason we seem to connect to some people for the remainder of our lives. Perhaps it is a soul thing. Perhaps it is a training thing. Or maybe it is just the oddity of life that happens with no specific explanation. Maybe we will have adjoining rooms in heaven. Who knows?

Godspeed, this journey loops and cuts back on itself so we can see the beauty of a life spent with friends.
Don

He is Everywhere

2011-06-09T09:33:00.002-05:00

We have made the pilgrimage to Amarillo for the my eldest grandson's birthday. We drove out with my youngest daughter and her son, my bride, and myself. It is not what one could describe as "scenic". Unless you like flat, brown, and boring. But the invention of CD players in cars and all the great animated classics (Toy Story, Cars, and Incredibles) the ride seems to move along at a snail's pace, and not like a glacier.

We arrived and unloaded. Then spent the afternoon and evening unwinding, getting dinner prepared, and visiting. By 10PM I was cooked, done. So off to bed I went.

This morning I was up before the herd was stirring. So I poured a mug of coffee, properly doctored with creamer and went outside to enjoy the cool morning.

What started out a reflection was turned again into a small, quiet moment of praise. The chorus ringing through my head, "I exalt thee, I exalt thee, I exalt thee Oh Lord." The music is wonderful, the words a great calm on my heart. The ever-present cool, high-country breeze only making the morning deep and quiet. There is something unchanging about the high plains, a sort of flowing constant, and ever-present.

It was then that I realized that God is either everywhere, or we carry Him with us wherever we go. I have sat next to lakes and watched the sun emerge over the far shore and dapple the water. There have been times on the side of mountains with friends from long ago where the air was thin and pure..and He was present. There have been hotel rooms far from home on work trips.. and He was there. Mission trips in foreign lands knowing that the work that day would be hard, with sore muscles and peaceful heart.. and He was there. There have been hospitals and dark nights, funeral homes, and empty tombs..and He was there. He apparently is everywhere, because I have found in those moments that I am just as apt to close my heart and not feel Him near me at all. I do not believe that our inability to fully understand will keep us from Him. I believe it our ability to ignore Him is what will doom us. You see in this moment in my life where it feels that I have been wandering in the wilderness He is there when I open the eyes to my heart. As A grandaddy I watch my grandkids with joy, and humor, and concern, and compassion. It makes my heart leap when they jump into my arms and acknowledge our special bond. There is nothing that sinks my heart like being ignored by my grandkids. I think this is a close feeling that God carries for His children.

Anyway, a few moments well spent this morning.

Godspeed, there is nothing like a cool morning, anticipation of the day, and God being near.
Don

ER..

2011-06-02T07:45:00.003-05:00

You miss a couple of weeks and the world changes. Blogspot had a problem, so I couldn't write the blog. Several things happened that I wanted to write about, but I was unable to, then lost interest. For whatever reason I didn't visit Facebook either, mostly due to just being in a funk. But below are a few hospital observations.

Spent the best part of the day in the ER a couple of weeks ago with Atrial Fibrillation. Never happened before, probably won't happen again. But now I am "in the system" The cardiologists are all over me. You have to understand that in the last 57 years the only hospital stays for me have been one event in childhood where they removed my tonsils. The other was 15 years ago when I had a virus that mimicked heart problems. The second event was more fun because they introduced me to morphine. Now there is a drug! You may still feel bad, but YOU DON'T CARE!

Here are my observations about ER from the perspective of a 57 year old guy with grey hair:
When you walk in complaining of chest pains, they move you to front of the line. No taking a number. She called an orderly to come get me and move me to a room right next to the nurse's station. Customer service in the medical industry is never at a higher level than in this singular instance.
Secondly, there is a fascination with my name and birth date. Every single person asked these two questions: What is your name? What is your birth date? After the fourth one, I wanted to tell them, "Write this down, share it with all your friends, Stop asking me!" I'm stuck here with an IV, pressure cup, heart monitor, and sticky electrodes from the EKG. Somewhere someone has my name and birth date. I considered giving them a false name or making up a birth date, but I was afraid it would delay my release.
Third, when the ER doc asked me when all this started, my bride was sitting in the room trying to control her panic and dealing with my kids, who were all calling and texting, it occurred to me that I had not mentioned to her that it probably started about midnight the night before. Particularly since we worked out at our usual 4:30AM, and I only then mentioned that I did not feel well. She was not going to be happy that this was the first time hearing it. So my quandary is this: Do I lie to the doc? or tell the truth and catch a LOT of mischief from my bride...hmmm. Reluctantly I told the truth, saw the lovely jaw set,knew that any heart condition was the least of my worries.
Fourth, I have a theory about hospitals. If you keep your clothes on, including shoes, they have to let you go home. Right? So kept my jeans on, my workout shoes, lost my shirt when they did the EKG, but kept all else intact. My youngest kept asking how I could be comfortable in jeans on a hospital bed. Comfort is not the issue, escape is the primary focus.
Finally, at the end of the day, after two IVs, sitting strapped to all kinds of monitoring equipment, I needed to hit the restroom. I called the nurse, they were working on my discharge papers. 20 minutes later still no nurse. My youngest went to track her down, the nurse was on her way. 10 minutes later when she showed up, she started unhooking all the paraphernalia then became transfixed by the story on the TV about the little boy found dead in Maine by his N. Texas mother. The nurse literally stopped moving and stared at the TV with her hands at her side. Meanwhile, I am squirming like a little boy on a long car ride. Get me unhooked or go get a mop! Like a dog let out of a kennel, as soon as the last constraint was removed I bolted for the john. Whew, it was close.

6PM headed home. Starving. We stopped and got me a loaded baked potato. Heaven.

A-fib is uncomfortable, but imminently manageable. What disheartened me about the entire day was the emotional harm on my bride. She handled it like the combat veteran she is, but it twisted my heart to realize I had caused this trauma. As we were going out the door at the house she put her fingers to her lips,as if trying to stifle a scream. Guilt washed over me like never before. Oh we have taken chunks out of each other in our 36 years together, but to harm is always a trauma for me. How could I say I was sorry for something I couldn't control? Emotions are funny things, they just show up, unbidden and unwanted. They are what they are. This is probably the only lasting damage done, to scare her with the unknown, the uncontrolled.

Anyway, the heart is fine. A lot of people out there probably are glad to realize I have one. Wore a monitor for 24 hours, tracking my heart rate, etc. I tried to get my bride to participate in a little action, just to see if we could set the thing off, a firm "no". Stress test next week. As if our lives alone aren't stress enough.

Godspeed, the journey is rejoined. The heart is good, I hope, not in the physical sense, but the integrity sense.
Don

Revolution

2011-05-17T08:54:00.002-05:00

There is a revolution taking place and we are unprepared for the next skirmish. I have spent the past 4 or 5 years wondering if my displacement from organized church was a serious flaw in my spiritual walk, or if there was a problem with the entire system. It occurred to me not long ago that while my relationship with God continues to move and is rewarding in so many ways, my relationship with organized church continues to erode.

I have a couple of observations that might help a little. One is that there is a substantial shift from organized church in general. We thought 10 years ago it was the kids (anyone younger than us) but then I began to run into a lot of contemporaries who were experiencing the same displacement. Our expectation of "community of faith" was running headlong into our experience of "organized church" This is sure cocktail for disillusionment. It is easy to feel isolated by this phenomenon until I read (scanned really) George Barna's book Revolution. He claims this shift is widespread and permanent. I tend to agree.

Most churches are a study in a church "unbalanced" This all relates back to danger of the singular voice of the pulpit guy. They have the incredible pressure to keep the numbers up (attendance and contribution) and providing the entertainment and outlets for numbers to be counted. Consequently, most senior ministers are not "deep" men or preachers. They are activists in all the right terms, but could care less about spiritual formation. They hope that service alone will create and provide the depth that is needed. I disagree with the approach, but understand the dynamics of their concern.I believe if we focus on spiritual formation, service will be the natural outgrowth of this deeper walk with God. However, this is a slow and sometimes arduous process. Churches will always be a place that will attempt keep folks busy, but it won't develop individual, deep, spiritual depth. You have to remember that the instincts and actions of any established organization is the continuity of that organization, usually at the expense of any individuals who might threaten that organization. This tendency is not even consciously articulated, but is simply the nature of the beast. We have suffered this reality in ways great and small, so the evidence is experiential, not theoretical. My "professional" ministry was subverted by church leaders who preferred to see "busy" people over "developed" people. It is not uncommon, but sad nonetheless.

What is driving me now to find an alternative are the futures of my grandkids. I am beginning to see the need for a smaller, more intimate community of faith, that will ignore the magnetic pull of organized religion and embrace the scary and exhilarating leadership of the Spirit. In my head is a vision of folks meeting in my home, your home, several homes that include a bond of friendship over the doctrinal distinctives that we have trumpeted for way too long. I am rapidly hitting the moment in my journey where making sure my grandsons and granddaughter will recall honest, deep questions about God in a loving and close community rather than some antiquated version of my childhood "church". This will provide them with the spiritual tools they will need to continue their journey. Each of my kids are eyeing ways in which they can influence the lives of their children and are rapidly losing faith in the "system" that has been established. Church leadership had better be worried about these informed, discerning young adults. These young people will find a way, and it will not be in the best interests of organized religion.

So a revolution is taking place and this revolution will shake the concepts of church and society. It is going to happen. As part of the crowd who has been voted off the island of organized church, it is now my job to help facilitate the revolution for the sake of my kids and grandkids and ultimately the kingdom.

Godspeed, there is much to do, but more importantly, there is much to pray about.
Don

Book Ideas

2011-05-10T08:30:00.002-05:00

There are a ton of ideas floating around in my head. Some come and go, others float around for quite some time, others get stuck permanently in the gray matter. One of these ideas that is developing pressure in my head is the idea of a book..or at least something longer than the 800 or so words I slide into these posts. You may wonder why I haven't written one before. Well, it comes down to impulse for me. I write when I want to, when something compels me to write, when I am bored, when I find something funny or meaningful in my world. But there are some ideas that just won't go away. Below are a few of them.

"Don't Drink the Kool-Aid"
This would be a book based on my observations about business from someone who has never been ultimately in charge. I am actually working on this one. My friend Doug has been tasked with keeping me accountable for writing. So far he has done a good job. He has made me feel guilty for not writing anything worthwhile. My first attempt was a dismal failure (my words, not his) His face was a study in being a good friend, an honest critic, and a supporter. But it was simply an abysmal attempt. So I am working on funny stories that I will make into the chapter titles: Reality is always your Friend; Don't Breath Your Own Air; Lean Into the Wind; You Can Tell Me What To Do, or How, But Not Both (chapter title is too long)
Of course I could always write about the things I know best..Doggin' It; my version of efficiency.

"30/50"
This would be a relationship book. You know, the marriage thing? The premise would be that there are a number of us out here in the world that are about 50 years old and have been married about 30 years. I have talked to all sorts of people about this moment in life and my conclusion is that there is a galactic battle going on in these marriages. Reality has set in and the fallout can be tough. Titles would be in the nature of: The Mirror is Lying To Me Again; I'm Talked Out; Where is My..; and then my favorite chapter..I Shouldn't HAVE to Get Lucky!
This book will be written from one who is clueless and incautious and untrained..me.

"Raising God-Fearing, Well-Adjusted, Mature Kids: A Man's Guide to Child Rearing"
Family help book. Problem is that I only have one chapter...Marry Well.

There are dozens of others. But with my attention span and the permission I got from Meyers-Briggs (being an ENFP, strong in all categories)for being "forward thinking" There is a chance I will have to take my 800 word blog posts and turn them into a book. Of course the problem there is that you have already read them all.....right?

Then there is the problem of finding a publisher who gets my humor.
Hey, there is always self-publishing, which just sounds like self-help/self-medication/self-ish.

Godspeed to the budding authors. The titles are easy, the message is tough.
Don

An Odd Moment in Time

2011-05-05T13:43:00.002-05:00

Yesterday was an odd day for me. Twenty nine years ago my mother passed away at the age of 57. I turned 57 this past February. It was a day where I wondered what would become of my little tribe if this were to happen to me. The day was also filled with trying to objectively see what I had contributed to the world around me. And the day was spent pondering the arbitrariness of who goes when and how. I tried to stay busy, tried to fill the day working and arranging and shifting around. Anything to put my mind in neutral, but it did little good.

Mom spent the last several months in a wheelchair because the cancer had attacked her bones in the back and hips making mobility almost impossible. The final straw was the liver cancer, which is dreadfully painful. She spent a great deal of time trying to manage between the pain medication and being lucid. It was a harbinger that a few months before my bride and I were married she had a mastectomy to get at the breast cancer. Five years of peace and cancer-free, then the return in the bones and finally the liver. She knew the final fight was over for several months.

She and I visited about all of this and I would find out later that she only remembered some of it. She attempted to teach me even in the last impaired days. She had me read Psalms 116, "I love the Lord because he hears my prayers and answers them.." and then later in the same psalm, "Precious in the eyes of the Lord are the death of His children.." I read this psalm at her funeral, it still strikes so deeply within my soul. A psalm of fear and glory, of overwhelming grief and reassurance, a psalm of trauma and peace. I cannot read this, even now, without tears in my eyes. This single event changed my entire scope of prayer and suffering, salvation and perseverance, it toughened me for the years ahead when I would have to summon all the lessons for the fight against this detestable disease in my daughter.

So in this moment, what do I feel? Well, the pain has subsided. There are events now that I wish she could see, my grandkids, kids-in-law would all make her proud. She would say I have received more than I deserved. It makes me want to hug them all close, to imprint on them my love for them and my love for our gracious God. My youngest never met my mother, my older ones probably don't remember her all that well either. But I want my grandkids to see her through me. My love of self-styled spiritual study came from her. She never went to college, but taught generations of younger women at church. My devotion to things spiritual came from her, she was a spiritually disciplined person long before it became a fad. The 5:30AM study where she drew close to God and through prayer, the rest of us. She was a warrior within the church, cajoling, confronting all who needed a word; a constant pursuer of things spiritual.

I will tell you she was a tough-minded woman. She ran her home with untiring vigilance. I have tried to to imagine what she was like as a mother-in-law, or a grandmother, but nothing comes to mind. Do I share some of this? I am told that I do.

Have I made an impact in the world around me to the same degree that she did? I don't know. I know that I have tried. Will people remember my teaching, or my take on this world? This blog might be some sort of marker. Will my kids laugh when they remember? Will they hold bitterness? I hope not. It is a hope for us all that kids tend to remember the good times and as parents we tend to remember our mistakes.

Anyway, the day has passed. Navel-gazing is done. But the effort always leaves me slightly unsettled.

Godspeed, it is a strange moment for me.
Don

200

2011-05-03T07:29:00.002-05:00

This is the 200th post since my bride set me up with a blog site. I know some of you are thinking this is probably 199 too many. But this has been a great activity for me. It gives me a place to journal, a place to vent, a place to observe, and a place to share. There have been some posts that I look back on and wonder what I was thinking at the time. There have also been a few that I know what I was thinking, but it makes me wonder why. A few posts have come dangerously close to being deleted, but in the spirit of emotional honesty I let them stand, good or bad, it was what was going on in my head at the time. I never claimed to be consistent.

There have been a few favorites, though. The deer crashing into my truck. The news that my son and D-i-L were expecting our precious Isaac, news received in the outback of New Mexico. Most of the posts surrounding Lincoln's birth and surgery.

My insight on life is usually sharpened by trauma. I'm not sure why this is so, but it puts my head in the "God wondering" mode. I have become, by nature, a contemplative, reading and thinking and meditating on the spiritual questions that seem to linger. Discernment (wisdom) is a product of suffering, not sure why, but this seems to be a theme in my writing.

But what astounds me the most is that you folks out there seem to keep coming back. You can't imagine how humbling it is that you continue to read, even when I know the writing is not particularly good or the insights very unique. It has been my stance that I write for me, but it overwhelms me that you read and respond. By the way, I get about as many responses via email as I do on the blog. That's fine, keep me in line, keep me challenged, that is what makes this fun. This post is to those out there who follow and respond, or not, but continue to read. Thank you.

So for a little bit of response. Should I change the way the blog looks? Over two years and the page still looks the same. I love the picture of my bride and my grandson. The metaphor of a journey is still the strongest in my life, so it will stay. Let me know what you think. Also, what were some of your favorites? Most of the folks I talk to just say they don't know what to say, but they tell me when something strikes a chord. I have one dear friend who keeps telling me to write a book...working on it. I did tell her to take all my posts, bind them, and sell the 20 or so copies that would sell and give the money to my bride when I am gone.

Thanks for the venue to write. Thanks especially to my bride for setting this up, it is the highlight of my week when I sit down to write. Thanks to all of you who follow.

Godspeed on this crazy journey we call life.
Don

Easter Weekend

2011-04-26T07:25:00.002-05:00

My eldest daughter and my dad's wife cooked up a visit for all of my clan to meet in Abilene at the farm where I was raised. This is not a small feat. My clan consists of 3 kids, 3 kids-in-law, 4 grandkids and my bride. It can seem like a traveling circus. There is plenty of room at the old place, my youngest daughter spearheaded the food planning, and we were off to the races.

It was a weekend in which I got to enjoy all the people that mean the most to me. As we stood around the dinner table at lunch on Sunday, all holding hands while my dad prayed, it occurred to me that this is the group that I spend most of MY time praying over. This band of 14 covers 4 generations, various life situations, and garners most of the sense of accomplishment that I have in my life.

The really nice thing is that I got to spend some real time with each of my grandkids, specifically getting to bind us closer with each moment.

Eli and I both brought our golf clubs. We play a short par-3 course (however, we seem to only play 8 holes due to an attention span issue) We do not keep score, but we do a lot of negotiating during the round. I have a standing deal with him, if he hits onto the green on his first shot from the tee, I pay him a dollar. The negotiating comes in when he hits it close..not on. So I added a variation. If he one-putts, then he earns another dollar. As soon as we struck that deal he rolled one in from 10' away. Really? Where was the hockey like action from the previous 6 holes?!? Apparently sandbagging is a naturally occurring tendency. But we got to spend a couple of hours just the two of us, walking, playing, laughing..it was the best medicine.

Phoebe coughed all through the night sleeping on her pallet at the foot of my bed. So around midnight I washed off her face and moved her up on the bed with me. Several times I woke up to her wriggling, but asleep. She is a live wire when awake, but she is the sweetest, snuggliest thing when asleep. So when we woke up, it was a very long conversation about Disney princesses, where she has vast knowledge and I have none, but the conversation was great fun.

Lincoln and I explored the barn and shed. We walked down to the edge of the field and looked at the creek. He explored and inspected everything. He is an old man in the way he walks and inspects things which cracks me up. He stands there, little chubby hands hooked in his pockets, head tilted forward just like an old man at a construction site. We walked and talked and explored.

Then I got to hold Isaac during church. We played and chewed on the bulletin, and he would just stare during the song service. Of particular interest was the "prayer card" in the seat back holder. After being chewed and slobbered on his mother took it away from us, not allowing us to put it back in the holder. What is that all about? I'm pretty sure it would dry before next Sunday. He did great in church, probably better than I.

But I spent the weekend trying to soak up time with my dad and the farm. The farm will soon pass from our family and it feels like some part of my family is passing from me. Dad can't handle the work load anymore and they need to move into town. So I spent some portion of every morning and evening looking out across the back fence remembering as many of the times spent there as possible. At the same time I was trying to soak up time with Dad. I wish his integrity and good humor came more naturally to me. Each moment I was wishing that I could reach out my hands and hold back time for just a little while, to hold my memories in place for a moment. But I know that time marches inexorably forward, ignoring my pleas, nudging me along against my will. I want to be able to set my pack to the ground at this moment in my journey, but it seems that there is no place to rest, no place to stop. There was a sense of trying to hold back a stream of water with only my hands..it simply washed over me and rushed on.

The clock keeps ticking. It makes me sad and grateful. Sad that the constant ticking means this world will change in unforgivable ways. Grateful for the memories that make me who I am. We are the sum of our decisions and memories. So I spent as much time with Dad as I could, laughing, kidding each other, just soaking it in. And I split time with my grandkids, imprinting on them memories that will be woven into the fabric of who they will become. Tick, tick ,tick...

Godspeed, the journey is a good one with an inevitable end. But, man, what memories that journey creates.
Don

What is Wrong with this Picture?!?

2011-04-19T07:24:00.002-05:00

This past Sunday my bride and I decided to visit a church close by because our youngest daughter had expressed an interest due to the new, young pulpit guy they had just hired. We had visited there before and it was fine, but just not enough to compel us to be regular visitors. Both of us share the desire to see our kids/kids-in-law/grandkids connected in a meaningful way to a community of faith. So we decided to go with them and lend support.

The visit was fine. Not extraordinary. But good enough. We were greeted warmly, we knew some of the folks, and because we are longtime veterans of the church scene, we knew where to go for coffee, knew how to find the nursery, knew what to expect in the assembly. There was not much they couldn't come up with that we hadn't seen.

Our grandson was parked in the nursery and no sooner had he been handed across the counter than his lower lip was stuck out, and before we were out of earshot we could hear him complaining to all that he was not happy with this arrangement. The over/under on how long he would last was somewhere in the 10 minute range. The service started with the singing, then the prayers, then the sermon. About 3 minutes into the sermon the nursery attendant came looking for our daughter to come get Lincoln who was still screaming. So Carrie went out and got him, brought into the assembly with us, then the three adults spent the next 30 minutes trying to keep him occupied, happy, and quiet. We were moderately successful. When we got back in the car the frustration was evident in my daughter. She felt like she had spent an hour trying to calm a toddler in a roomful of people who she assumed were exasperated with her and her rambunctious kid. It broke my heart that church had frustrated her rather than restored her.

Here is the situation as I see it. We are asking a generation that is only tenuously connected to "church" to come at a specific time, with well-mannered kids, and sit quietly while we run through the rites of the Sunday morning assembly. These young parents are looking at this set up and are opting out. Why put your kid, your spouse, and yourself through this every Sunday? To be honest, I felt like all three of us had been wrestling alligators when this was over. Tired, stepped on, apologetic, and hungry are not the emotions that church should engender. So what is wrong with this picture? We tried to tell my daughter that we went through the same thing, that missing some or all of the assembly time was part of the deal until the kids were old enough to weather the separation. I could tell she wasn't sure if she could handle that.

Here is my take on what we should do. If we insist on the assembly being over an hour, we need to do away with the nursery and allow the little ones to come into the assembly and make as much noise as they want. This would have the dual effect of allowing us grey-heads to help corral the kids on our row, in a kind, grandparenty way. It would also have a much needed impact on all ego-centric preachers to get to the point, make it, and get the heck to the end of the sermon. Sermons should be capped at 15 minutes, if you can't do it in that time frame, go back and spend more time on being succinct, less time on hearing your own prattle. Keeping our babies in the assembly would also be an affirmation that we are "family" and not "church." Crying babies are the sound of a healthy community. If all you hear is the wheezing of us geezers, then the community is dead already.

Here's an idea. What if we all just gathered, sang whatever songs were on some one's heart. Prayed with and for each other. Let anyone who has a SHORT message stand up and speak the voice of God into our ears, then when the kids got too rowdy, we call it a day. I think I read this somewhere. We better do something or we are placing our communities of faith on a path of extinction. We need the young families to feel welcome, to feel at home, and to feel that they matter rather than feeling that they are a bother.

Godspeed out there to all the young moms and dads who are trying to do the right thing. We can make this work, don't give up on us just yet.
Don

Wrong Room

2011-04-13T07:04:00.002-05:00

There are two types of hotel rooms that I find creepy to stay in by myself. Since my career over the past six years or so has involved a lot of travel, it has become something of a pet peeve when I receive one of these two types of rooms. Normally if I am in the hotel for one night, it doesn't bother me what room I stay in. As a friend of mine says, "I can hold a bear's head in a snuff box that long" Translation: I can do almost anything for a short period of time. But the nights spent in these rooms tend to depress me for highly diverse reasons.

The first style of room that happens the most frequently is the "handicapped" room. Handbars on the tub and shower, extra room next to the toilet, lower sink levels for wheelchair guests, couches and chairs removed for easier access to the bed and desk all make for a depressing stay. In my opinion, all the hotels need rooms like these. Folks with disabilities should be able to travel and tour and not be inconvenienced by poorly designed rooms. With that said, it depresses me to stay in them. I bump my elbows on the handrails in the shower, I sit on the bed and not at the desk. It is a constant reminder that there are folks who live in this world that live this as "normal". My eldest daughter while taking Gleevac for her cancer maintenance would understand better than I reframing your world to a new "normal." But I struggle when this normal is overlayed onto my normal. I guess I'm trying to say it isn't normal.

Monday night I was given a room in Grand Rapids which was twice the normal size of a standard hotel room...with a huge whirlpool tub in the corner..with two walls of mirrors surrounding the tub and reflecting on the bed, next to the tub. Nice room, but all I wanted to do was sleep there, do a little work, and go to my appointment. The room was obviously designed for a couple on a get away weekend. But the other half of my couple was 1200 miles away, too long a reach for even me. So every move I made was reflected in those mirrors. The only way to get away from them was to sit at the built in desk unit across the room nearer the TV. It only accentuated the fact that my bride was at home and I was not. Narcissism run aground. Just as an aside note, my working out is not having as much effect as I had hoped. Maybe mirrors add 15 pounds.

So here is what occurred to me as I was flying home. How many of us journey through life living in the wrong rooms? Our culture tells us we are sick, or have a certain malady that if we add the bars or move the furniture we can develop a new normal. If we live with the idea that we are impaired in some way, then the props that the world imposes on us will feel like the life of normality. Or our culture tells us that constant reflection and larger rooms and the need for better and better are the way to go. When we finally see a true reflection we understand that the lifestyle of narcissism only accentuates our alone-ness. We seem to spend our lives living in the wrong rooms.

When I got home last night my bride gave me hug and a kiss and said, "The washer is leaking." Aww. Home. My place with the worldview that allows a little sickness, allows intimacy, allows me to see me and the ones I love with clarity and discernment. We need to learn to take our rooms with us, not accept the rooms that the world tries to force on us. God built our rooms long before we arrived. He knew just what to put in them and just what to leave out, it is only our attempts to "fix it up" that we end up messing it up.

By the way, I went back down to the front desk to see if the young lady wanted to put me in a normal room. Would you believe that the "couples" room she gave me was the cheapest in the place? Hmm. Could be another blog in there.

Godspeed, to live in our intended rooms is a life well-lived.
Don

Parachuting In

2011-03-31T08:33:00.002-05:00

This past Thanksgiving my daughters insisted that I join the Facebook world. We spent a tortuous couple of hours going through the protocol of FB, we explored all the benefits, then we went through the part that intimidated me from the beginning.."accepting" or "ignoring" friends. This exercise was excruciating. So until this past week I was not overwhelmed with posts, nor felt the compulsion to respond to very many.

Then I accepted a friendship offer from a girl I knew in high school. She apparently has kept up with everybody, while I have kept up with no one..intentionally. There is a small streak of my dad in me. He refuses to look back. The afternoon of my mom's funeral he encouraged the daughter and D-i-Ls to go through mom's stuff and get what they want because the rest is being donated. We have always joked that Dad should not be the one to decide how long we stay on life support, after all Kiwanis will not wait. There is a little of this in me and high school was one of those events that was fine, but I never looked back and didn't keep up with the folks once I was gone.

As I mentioned above the girl from high school was someone I knew, but didn't really run around with. I have no real inclinations either way, but on a whim I accepted the offer of "friends" and thought no more about it. A day or two later when I checked FB, Holy Cow! There were 53 folks wanting to "befriend" me. I was a jokester in high school and we all had a lot of laughs, but in the intervening years I have become less so and I'm sure all these people are the same. Besides, even with the maiden name listed in the request, I didn't even KNOW half these people. Now I am revisiting the angst from Thanksgiving about who is in and who is out. This is stressful.

Now I have discovered that some of these people (specifically the women) have stayed in touch all these years. So as these posts pop up on my FB page there are all sorts of inside jokes, shared trauma, accomplishments, disappointments, illness, long-distant moves, and even deaths that I have suddenly parachuted into the middle of. It is a little disconcerting to suddenly be thrown into this 40 year reconnect with no knowledge of the intervening years. So will my way of joking be acceptable? (sometimes it comes across as a little sarcastic..when it is really just very cerebral) Do I want to attempt to catch them up on my journey? Probably not. And now I learn there is this whole 40-year-reunion talk for next year. Hmmm. I am bringing about a pound a year to the event over high school. Yeah, this is going to go well.
My bride keeps pointing out that FB is responsible for a lot of marriage breakups. I have given up trying to explain to her that if there are any of the girls left from high school who have any interest in me, my interest in them has been long gone from the first time I spotted her in Abilene all those years ago at ACU. She captured my heart and holds it to this day. Besides, breaking up was really not my specialty back in those days, so unless they are looking for revenge, she has nothing to fear.

For now it is a wait and see deal on FB. I accepted them all..it was easier than trying to remember who they all were. As a plus, one of the girls I was in choir with sent me a picture of me and a couple of other guys in the Senior Musical from the article in the paper. I am trying to figure out how to print this from FB, it is cool to see how much change has happened, hair, weight, and the silver tooth is gone. I am also being told that I can "hide" either from these folks or them from me. Facebook, the new social conscience.

Godspeed to all you travelers on the virtual highway. It may seem like nothing has changed, but I am here to tell you that, judging from the picture I received a lot has changed.
Don

The Looking Glass

2011-03-29T07:20:00.003-05:00

It always surprises me that the perception we have of ourselves is rarely shared by all those around us. We each look in the mirror and are rarely surprised by the character staring back at us. Oh we see the physical features like everyone else, but we struggle with the warring worlds within us. When speaking to my kids and my friends and certainly my bride I reference all the "voices" in my head. They are a vocal bunch and apparently rather contentious. You see we are not simply one way or another and we look different to those around us. But our lives are less like a mirror and more like a looking glass.

Turning the looking glass one way, I am a reflective soul. I enjoy pondering the mysteries of this life. Quiet reflection was something I had to learn, it is done in silence and solitude. It can only be accomplished by quieting all the noise in my head long enough to left full disclosure happen. There are some dark and scary thoughts in there, but those thoughts are simply an ingredient of what makes me..well, me. But this discipline of reflection has to be exercised the same as working out at the gym, it is not a natural product of our culture. So why desire this particular ingredient? Because it also allows me the ingredient of discernment. It helps me understand motive and actions, it gives me insight into the dark places of others, both close and distant. This ingredient also gives me some level of calm, peace in an unpeaceful world. I am allowed to quiet the panic that engulfs most of us at one time or another.

So I can spin the looking glass another way and understand that there are at least four people in the world accept me as a benevolent force in their world. Two of them call me "grandaddy" one of them calls me "gandadadad.." the fourth simply looks at me with either a mild look of concern or one of the most endearing little grins you could imagine. But these four hold a very special place that no one else holds. I treat them differently than I do anyone else in the world and I think at some level they understand that. So the reflection they see is a guy who just wants to be with them, to soak them up as often as possible because the sand will run out of my hourglass before it does theirs, then they will only have the memories of me. So the reflection looks different to them than anyone else.

This looking glass has so many sides. Husband, father, son, uncle, friend, opponent, employee, boss, father-in-law, competitor, citizen, member, grandaddy, and the list literally goes on and on. I have a customer that refers to me as "the plain-spoken Texan" others have other descriptions, not always as flattering. So who is the real "me"? All of them, and only some of them, and occasionally none of them.

But I think there are some reflections that are the real thing. I try for honesty, integrity, compassion, generosity, and the toughest of all..humility. Some would point out that I don't have all that much to be proud of in my own crazy make-up, but the human condition is one that places pride above the rest of the traits. It is the one we fight against the hardest and the most often. The traits above should be found regardless of which way you turn the looking glass. It is when these traits are left out that the looking glass refuses to awe us.

I have wondered if this is the aspect of God that we have not seen. We each turn the God-prism so it looks the prettiest to us. Something in my background or yours might compel us to look at the glass that best reflects grace or love or forgiveness. But if we keep turning the glass we will see jealousy, vengeance, intractability, single-mindedness, a demand for loyalty, and the reflections go on and on. You see, I think that God is as multi-dimensional as we are, perhaps more so. And like us he has traits that are reflected from each image in the looking glass. I think these go back to the words above, integrity, honesty, compassion, etc. In this way perhaps we are created in his image.

Godspeed out there. Remember that the looking glass has many sides, it is the wonder of this life when we grow wise enough to turn the glass and enjoy all the colors.
Don

Like Riding a Bike

2011-03-23T06:12:00.002-05:00

We got the call Sunday evening, at our friend's house getting ready to eat. Jordan, our eldest was in the ER, again. The panic is always there, but those words always me my stomach knot up. This journey is a long and familiar one for us. Jordan is a three timer on this cancer deal. My first question every time she calls is, "Is everything alright?" I take a fair amount of guff, but it habit and defense mechanism. So we waited until late Sunday night and got the word that it was a bowel obstruction, probably having some correlation to all the surgeries she has endured. But this is a pretty common and easily corrected problem. Our S-i-L had a lot on his plate this week and I had no appointments, so I volunteered to drive to Amarillo in my little Ford Ranger and corral the kids while he worked and Jordan convalesced.

Took off very early for Amarillo and arrived around 1:30. From those moments on I have been reminded that my role as grandaddy and my role as caregiver are worlds different.
We gathered all at the hospital and then I took Brad's truck and the kids and headed to my daughter's house, pulled up in the driveway and couldn't find the garage door opener. Eli my 7 year-old said he knew the code. So he hopped out and ran (he always runs unless the family is in a hurry then he shifts into the glacial speed) to the keypad, typed in some numbers...nothing. He looks at me and mouths the question, "What is the number?" I shrugged my shoulders and, in the universal sign of bewilderment, raised my hands palms up. I don't know. Then I see him trying to work out the code with is fingers..there was a zero and at least one "four". With is face pinched with concentration he reenters the code. Eureka! we have the wrong garage door opening! He sees the problem, holds up one finger (as in, hold on a second) and races inside the garage to hit the manual button next to the back door..we are in.

After unloading my suitcase and rolling laptop case and two backpacks and cups and stuff we start getting squared away to take baths. Seperate or together? Does a 7 year old boy and 4 year old girl bath together? I hoped so, that way I can keep an eye on both. So we are running the water and Miss Phoebe informs me we don't have the right shampoo. Apparently she needs the kind that "makes my hair curly" So off she races and returns with an armload of hair care bottles. I have no idea where they came from, but she is certain that the yellow one makes her hair curly. No problem, whoever is missing shampoo is on their own. Eli meanwhile is trying to not get any part of himself wet. He prefers the dry cleaning method. He was informed that he would, indeed, have to get wet. After a significant amount of sloshing, all were at least soaked, if not cleaned. Now for a book. Each ran in different directions and chose a book, one was on sharks the other on princesses. Hmmm. State certified mediation is good thing to have. Doesn't work on anyone under 10 years old. We settled on a Dr. Seuss book, we struggled with a Wocket in My Pocket. This reading made no one happy, and no one got their way, welcome to mediation. In bed at 8:15, not bad target time was 8PM, but no parents around, so who will know?

5:30AM. Alarm clock works. 30 minutes of my disciplines, mostly reading and praying, figured I needed both for the day. Then start coffee, and getting Eli up and running. You remember the "racing" from yesterday? Not so much today. Our D-i-L introduced us to the term "slowy-McPokerson" Wow was the boy moving S-l-O-W! Getting dressed, "Can I wear my Wranglers and boots?" Trick question? Does his mom know to look for this trickery? I asked, "Do you want to go out on the playground with boots on?" What answer did I expect? Of course he did. Go for it. Almost walked out the door with his pajama shirt on.

Boys are pretty easy to dress, jeans, shoes and any shirt that is on top in drawer. Girls in the other hand....We went through all four drawers, pulled out at least 5 pants (after negating two dresses) and a dozen tops. It is a bewildering array of colors, prints, styles, and combinations. And guess what, a 4 year old has surprisingly strong opinions about what she will wear and what she won't. But we settled on an outfit that was at least acceptable. Doing the hair is an entire full post on its own. Let me just say that men (grandaddies) have nothing in their DNA or experience that gets them ready for the trauma of trying to fix a 4 year olds curly hair. I failed, it was a mop when we started and went downhill from there. She will simply have to live with the fact that I love her dearly and have no idea how to tackle that red mess on her head. But I took her to KU and made sure all the moms there knew that Jordan was still in the hospital. Mia culpa.

First 24 hours, all in the right place at the right time. Followed by a meltdown at bath time last night, 8:30 announcement that he had forgotten a couple of assignments (he asked me to read his reading assignment, I declined, told him I had already passed well beyond the 6th grade, he needed to read it) So missed bedtime by almost an hour due to homework, put the other one to bed sobbing. This entire structure will be completely destroyed if we don't get mom home by Thursday.

Godspeed out there to all you grandparents who are raising your grandkids. I simply am too old to do it. It is not just energy, but role. I'm better as a grandaddy. I haven't forgotten, but I don't want to tackle it everyday.
Don

St Patrick's Day, My Way

2011-03-18T13:11:00.002-05:00

We decided to go daytrippin' for St. Patrick's Day. Our little band considered going to Dublin, Tx for the Irish Stew Cook-off. Then we considered going to East Texas and boarding a Paddle boat for a ride. We wanted to include wine-tasting, antiquing, and good food.

We finally settled on a drive to Grapevine for all the above. Lunch at the Grapevine Bread Company for soups and sandwiches and a salad or two. We went through several stores and finally hit the Homestead Wine Tasting Room. We ended up with a sweet red, a full tummy, and a few doo-dads that the girls picked up.

Then we were off to the Ft Worth Stockyards. We arrived in time to see the last "cattle drive" of the day. 8 or 10 rangy old longhorns being pushed along by 5 or 6 cowboys. The street was lined with kids and tourists, it was sunny and the cows ambled along while people shot a bizillion photos with their phones. Another wine-tasting room that did not impress any of us, then on to dinner.

The final dinner decision was Eno's in the Bishop Arts District with pie from Crecia's. They were having an outdoor St. Patty's Day celebration with a Texas Swing band, so we nursed our decafs along and people-watched for the rest of the evening.
By the way, the pizza was great and the pie was good. The problem with store-bought pie is that all three of us guys are married to ladies who cook some of the best pie in the world, no shortcuts on crust or fillings. So the ambiance has to make up the difference...it almost did.

So we spent the day laughing and visiting. Pointing out the absurdities of life and our place in it. We have gotten so close to this little band that we know who will like what, who will want to do what, and believe it or not we are a pretty accommodating bunch, so no whining or arguing. Just fun with people we love to spend time with. We are trying to figure out a sound system that will allow us to visit in the car since some of us are getting quieter as the years go by and we can't hear the soft-spoken like we used to. It is the accumulation of these good memories that make our lives significant. It boils down to the fact that this little "community of faith" is what will sustain us and allow us to enjoy our spot in the world.

Godspeed, I hope your St Patrick's Day was a good one. Mine was especially good.
Don

1 Year

2011-03-08T08:19:00.002-06:00

Today is a grey, overcast, drizzly day in north Texas. It matches my mood almost exactly. My bride has spent most of the morning asking me what is wrong. And my answer is "nothing" or "everything" I haven't been able to put my finger on the cause of the malaise. This is not particularly a case of being sad, or mad, just blah.

I think it may have to do with the 1 year anniversary of the job loss. Who would have thought it would be this long? This is different world we live in. Skill, ability, drive, integrity do you no good if the powers-that-be decide to hoard their revenue instead of invest it in people and initiative. So I am struggling with the longest stretch of unemployment, or underemployment in my life. And it doesn't seem to be brightening.

The two companies I am working with each have grave flaws in their approach. When I try to communicate the reasons for the slow start, they get really defensive. So they refuse to listen, and refuse to adjust. It leaves me with a slowly degrading picture... fade to grey.

But I refuse to quit. There is something in me that drives me to try and make it work. Their lack of integrity, their lack of knowledge can't be the reason to quit. Something will have to come along, the winds of change will have to blow again. I have too many years left to give it up. I am as anxious to work today as I was 20 years ago.

So pray for a break in the clouds, both environmentally and emotionally.

Godspeed. Thank goodness I stand faithful to one who does not require constant merriment. He understands because we have spent a great deal of time together this year.
Don

For What It's Worth

2011-03-04T10:14:00.003-06:00

There are a couple of things I would like to comment on, but don't want to try and develop an entire blog for any one of them.

Libya protests. Here is my thought. We need to stay out of their business. It is not our fight, it is not our business. If they nuke each other out of existence, then so be it. US of A only uses about 1.5% of their oil (most goes to Italy) and they have very little else to market besides sand and we have enough of that. We can't afford another war. In my advancing years I have decided that we have enough problems sorting out this democracy thing at home, I'm not sure how well it exports to a tribal culture. It is my firm belief that the young people of that country will rise up in revolution against a dictator and a repressive religion. 'Nuff said.

Charlie Sheen. It is always fascinating to see a slow motion train wreck. This guy's wheels have shot off and he is hurtling forward, out of control, over the cliff. The problem is that in the backseat are the folks he works with and for, his kids, and anyone left calling them his friends. This is going to be a colossal explosion at the end. He needs to tweet Tiger and see how he likes the fall-out.

NFL CBA OMG. Really? You guys can't figure out how to divvy up $9BB? This is like my having an interest in the Highland Park residents up in arms about a Wal-Mart moving in. Rich people arguing over money the rest of us will never see. I sure hope the rookies saved all their income from college days, it could be a long non-season. I think the media ought to tell the NFL, "call us when you have a deal." Being out of the spotlight might hurt more than the eventual deal struck. Of course there are men all over the US wondering what they will do instead of ignoring their wives and kids on Sunday, now THERE is a rooting interest.

Finally, No call back. I have had it with people who don't return phone calls, or keep appointments, or let you know what the decisions will be. We are all big boys and girls. It is enormously rude to not call back. It is getting more prevalent every day.

Wow, do I feel better. If you have a problem with my blog..leave a message.

Godspeed out there. For what it's worth.
Don

Here's To Long Life

2011-03-01T09:42:00.003-06:00

Today at my usual station at Panera, I read an article about 5 "myths" about living longer. What really caught my eye was the two, half-full wine glasses and the guy working out next to them. I'm not sure why this caught my attention, but they did. So I read the article.

If I can remember them all, here are the five myths (not necessarily in the order of the article, but in how I remembered them)

Myth 1: You have to exercise at a certain level to make it worthwhile. Apparently the article says that if we are trying to exercise by doing something we hate, we will stop, thus not exercising at all. So go ahead and garden, or take a walk, or walk the dog. Just get off the couch as often as you can. My opinion is that we have grocery stores that negate the need for gardens, I hate walking with no destination, and the stupid dog can walk herself - she has legs, though they are getting shorter. My bride and I are beginning to enjoy our time at the gym, thank you very much.

Myth 2: Don't work so hard, slow down, enjoy. This is a myth. According to the 90 year study, the high achievers live longer. I have always worked hard..it's that high achieving thing that trips me up.

Myth 3: Being married helps you live longer. The list from shortest to longest for men is: "remarried" guys have the shortest life span. I would attribute this to having to retrain the second/third/fourth one, it is just a lot of effort. Single guys are next, a lot of these guys probably get shot before they die of natural causes. Finally (my group) one wife, one life. We outlive them all, so there.

Myth 4: Eating low fat, blah blah blah..don't really remember what this section said. My personal opinion is that if you work out you get a pass on the food part. Also, I would rather live a shorter period of time and eat good stuff than outlive all my contemporaries and eat like a monk. Give me nice steak, a really good pinot noir, and generous slice of egg custard pie. At that point I would die satisfied and good-natured, not live a long time as a bitter, crusty old vegan.

Myth 5: If you have a "look on the bright side" attitude you will live longer. Basically this "attitude" had no impact on longevity. Better to be focused and engaged in whatever you are doing. I find bright, chipper people annoying.

So here is my cocktail for a long life, or at least an enjoyable life.
Have some really good friends that you love being around and they love being around you. Work out as much as you can every week on a schedule that makes sense to you. Eat as healthy as you can, but enjoy the good cooking and the good times that meals bring. Enjoy your mate in every way, emotionally, spiritually, sexually, mentally, as much as you can, as long as you can. Build a spiritual life around the disciplines of the Spirit and spirit. Let yesterdays be yesterdays and todays be todays, tomorrows don't count. Dream, aspire, learn, keep climbing the hill, stay on the journey, until the very last moment, I hope in the last moment I can say with a certain joy in my soul, "I didn't know that.." Always, always, always laugh.

Godspeed, the journey is short or long, but is best traveled with the knowledge that the journey we are on is uniquely ours, mine, yours.
Don

You're Not the Boss of Me!

2011-02-22T07:53:00.002-06:00

The riots in the middle east have held a certain fascination for me. These protests have monopolized the news and raised the prices at the pump. Talking heads on all the networks, both broadcast and cable have opinions, points of views, and conclusions. They have brought in experts who have told us that this was foreseeable. TV has carried images of angry young protesters, of entrenched and embattled nation leaders, and of anonymous BDU clad military, smoke enshrouded city streets, and heavy artillery clunking forward against rock throwers. It is a scene of confusion, desperation, and a stark battle of wills.

But no one has given a clear and concise answer to the "why" question. What is driving these people to risk life and limb to face a vastly better armed opponent? And why is it erupting in a fairly well-defined part of the globe? Why now? Why there? Why these people?

It is being reported that Facebook and Twitter, and the Internet are all contributors to this unrest. There are indications that the movement is more heavily driven by young people. And it is obvious that the nations most targeted are the ones that have oppressed far longer than their neighbors.

So here is my conclusion. It is my firm belief that whenever a severe and sectarian organization deals with its constituents in a heavy handed manner, then that organization should expect a revolt. The revolt always comes from the young people. They do not care that they may be outgunned, out-financed, and no part of the power structure. When the scope of discipline outstrips the dignity of the individual, that individual will push back. We all see it in families. As a parent you can put your child under a crushing thumb, but as some point that child will grow and bite that thumb of oppression..at whatever cost.

We have this in our own national history. The sexual revolution from the '60s tells us that when a puritanical structure is applied across all, there will be a revolt. Personally, I was taken captive early in the revolution and spent the duration doing dishes, but the rejection of code and bond has become the norm today, not the exception. It changed the way our nation thought and expressed itself and a return to the national conscience from prior to the '60s is gone for good.

I firmly believe that what we are witnessing is the rejection of the national stricture of the Muslim code by the young people, just as the young people of this country rejected the sectarian, christian structure almost 50 years ago. Instead of feeling the need to fight the jihadists that have held our attention for so long, we inadvertently put into the hands of the young the greatest weapon of all...the ability to communicate digitally without the control of government, culture, family, or religion. They tweeted this entire riot into existence. 147 characters at a time will topple governments that the US of A haven't been able to bring down. Never underestimate the power of man to exert free will when the oppression is the greatest. There is something inside all of us that will cause us to stand and shake our fists at oppression even in the face of the most overwhelming of odds. I suspect the line from the old movie probably sums up the feelings of those in the news, "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!" But the reason for that anger is the suppression of that will by force.

We should all take this to heart. We have it in all of us. The quickest way to get me to dig my heals in is to tell me that I have no choice. The quickest way to get me to do something is to exhibit your love for me, then ask my help. I will kill myself to make sure I have helped.

Godspeed to all the revolutionists, it is the power that changes.
Don

Birthdays and Reflections

2011-02-16T08:48:00.002-06:00

Birthdays and reflections go together like peas and carrots, as our nationally favorite challenged person once said. This may be a trend as we get older. I discovered that when I say that I am 57, it doesn't even make a ripple in my psyche, but to write it down is to understand that the number is far larger than I feel it should be. How did this age catch me so quick? I suspect somewhere in the next 57 I will be launched into the "great uncounting" But man, having now written it a few times in this paragraph, it sure looks like a big number.

Here are a few things I have noticed at this age, though.

Something hurts all the time, knees, back, teeth, feet, shoulder. Instead of giving Tylenol a run at my liver, I just put up with it with as little whining as possible. Probably more whining than I realize if you were to ask my bride, but less than some.

I cannot tell how old anyone else is. Young people all look younger than my kids, who it now occurs to me are not all that young either. My dad said one time he realized he was old when he looked at his kids and realized they were all middle-aged. I took some offense to that at the time..a compliment now. Guys my age look either 40 or 70, I am reluctant to take a good hard look in the mirror to see which category I fall into. By the way, when looking the mirror, I look at pretty specific things like teeth (all there?) where is hair growing it shouldn't, any skin spots need to be inspected? I never look at the entire picture. It is called focus.

My bride is as dear to me as she ever was. I can't see her without the patina of love and devotion. I'm sure she has aged, but I can't see it. She still holds my heart captive and makes my pants go crazy (my kids just signed off)

Life is pretty good, still able to do about whatever I want to. No major bumps in the road. Can dress like I want to, and dress myself. I can still work and work out. I can still love and be loved.

Godspeed to the other birthday folks out there. Hope there are enough in the future to say "I love you" to all the right folks.
Don

Snow Days

2011-02-08T08:15:00.002-06:00

I like snow days. A lot people don't like them because they dread the pile up of work, or days to be made up, or being trapped in a house with a bunch of rambunctious kids, or the dirty floors from the snow and grime tracked in. But I like the entire deal. When my kids lived at home all I remember were the good memories and the fun pictures from those moments that are not duplicated in any other setting.

Here is a list of what I like:

- I like the food that goes along with the cold weather. Chili and soups and good Italian pasta. Big breakfasts of eggs and bacon or pancakes. I like holding a mug of hot coffee and nursing that thing along until it is gone or I have to reheat it. I enjoy the festival of baking cookies and always being amazed that the number of cookies never matches the number we should have generated with the recipe (I suspect the constant grazing on the cookie dough probably throws off the number) I like the smells that are generated by all this cooking, filling the house with a reminder that most of our really good memories are around the dinner table.

- I like the fireplace. I know that most folks now have the gas fireplaces with the ceramic logs, but I like having a real fire with real wood. I enjoy the constant fiddling with the logs and making sure that the fire is "pretty." I even like the phenomenon of the rest of the house being much cooler and the fireplace being a little nova of warmth and community. There is something restorative about parking by the fire in a big chair, or snuggled up with my bride late in the evening after we have shoved the loveseat over in front of the fireplace. I especially like the contentment that comes from nursing along a really nice pinot noir late in the evening and watching the fire burn down and thinking deep, deep thoughts. There are not many things that generate the reflection that a good fire backed by a snowstorm will bring.

- I like (although now in shorter sprints) playing in the snow, laughing at the kids and dog. Memories of dragging them behind the lawnmower or the car on a sled or a big piece of card board. I enjoy the emergence of the neighborhood snowmen. The ice always catches me off guard and I still chuckle to myself at my silly clumsy spraddle-legged walk when I unexpectedly hit a patch of ice. I like looking at and wondering about the icicles that form on the house eaves, always the same, but always catching me by surprise.

There is something congenial about cold and snow and ice. It forces us indoors and forces us together. There is something wonderful and being able to stay snuggled in under the flannel sheets, curled up with my bride and knowing that the day is not filled with going and doing. I like that it slows and pauses and lets us enjoy the infrequency of this weather in Texas.

I like it for about three days...then I'm done, but those are usually three great days.

Godspeed to the snow folks, I am not a resident, only a tourist.
Don

Storm Watchers

2011-02-02T07:16:00.002-06:00

I have become a storm watcher. Not the weather kind, the human trauma kind. Emotional trauma, especially illness sweeps through your life, creating all kinds of havoc, then finds it way on down the road, or plays itself out.

This past weekend, we had a pretty good thunder shower. Oh it was not the world shifting event of my mother's dying of cancer (hurricane force winds) and it was not the tsunami that my eldest daughter's cancer created, or the month-long snow storm of Lincoln's NICU stay, but it was a pretty powerful little thunderstorm. It also ran across my property, but was mostly located on my daughter's property..we share a fence line. It clouded up and rained, and had moments when there was some pretty intense lightening (we may not be able to fix the hole in her heart with the implant.) A flash of dread, then the lightening is gone. Hitting nothing. They fixed the hole.

In the midst of watching my daughter, who has created some real storms in our lives, it was interesting to see her deal with the other side of the event...the waiting. She made it pretty clear she did not like this side of it. And as we waited and waited, peering down the hall towards the door behind which was our little Phoebe and the doctors who were patching her heart, I tried to let little snippets of storm watching hints drop on my daughter for the help she might need. Little pieces of news that are set backs need to handled with a "neutral" mind. Decisions have to made without the considerations of the previous decisions. Then you have to let it go, the could'a-should'a-would'a syndrome will kill you in these situations. So you watch the storm roll on and know that you will have to fix any of the damage later, but there is nothing you can do about it now.

So the storm rolled through. Very little damage, mostly good stuff. The air smells fresh and new, the ground underfoot has that spongy, healthy feel to it. You can see where the flowers will spring up in a day or so. It is the irony that where the storm hit the hardest, across the fence in my daughter's heart, is where the flowers will grow the tallest. Storm watchers know these things. It is good to know these things, but the training is brutal.

Godspeed out there to all the storm watchers and rained on residents. Spring follows the trauma of a good rain.
Don

A Normal Weekend

2011-01-29T13:41:00.002-06:00

This weekend is one of those we get every once in a while in north Texas in the dead of winter; clear skies, 70 degrees, calm day. It is a day of rest and relaxation. Our eldest daughter is in town with our only grand daughter. I have watched Cinderella twice already. We turned our noses up at Lady and the Tramp, Dumbo (neither had a princess) Snow White and Alladin also were rejected along with Mermaid and all the Toy Stories. It is very discerning protocol.

Yesterday, however, Phoebe and I and her momma spent the day at Children's Hospital in Dallas getting all the tests and work done so they can go in and fix a hole in Phoebe's small, precious heart. It is a procedure that they kept stacking percentages against in the unsuccessful attempt to reassure us that all would go well. Even though only 1 in 250,000 have any sort of complication, or less than 3% ever have any lasting effects, the fact of the matter is that they are working on 100% of my grand daughters, there are no more, and there are none more precious to me. 250,000 does not compute, only the number 1, mine. They use unfamiliar words to mask to reality of what they are going to do. Words like 'margin" and "septal" and the list goes on. But I have sat in other conferences with doctors where they used words like "main-line" and words like "stromal" and words like "gleevac" and "resection". And I know that they are using their words to communicate, but they are not using my words. Words that I yearn for are "strong" and "healthy" and "never again". I have learned to listen very carefully and I have gotten very good at reading doctor's faces and body language. I have learned their language and have learned to ask what they know and not ask what they do not know. But in the final analysis they will never understand my language either, words like worry, and prayer and lonely, and afraid. These words have become long-time companions, never really welcome, but around all the time. I have learned that my luck with the odds is not very good. There has been far too much time spent in hospitals wondering what the future might hold and not being very optimistic about the chances. I have prayed and agonized over my mothers illness, my eldest daughter, my second grandson, and now my only grand daughter. It is ironic to me that my bride and I have largely escaped all the hospital stays that involve either one of us. I can only think of one instance of an overnight stay for me and almost that few for my bride. Oh, we have spent months in the hospitals for others, but we have always been the guard, never the prisoner.

So this bright sunny Saturday morning, Phoebe asked if she could watch Cinderella again, of course on the couch curled up with me. Drink of water? No problem. Monday will be here soon enough. Then I will be in full battle set, watching over my bride, my daughter, my son-in-law, and praying constantly for little Miss Phoebe; ignoring the little whispers of fear that will be there until they come out and tell us that all went well. There is no such thing as "routine" when it is done under full anesthesia, and it is done to someone dear to me. No. Such. Thing.

Godspeed to those who follow this journey, please stop a moment and lift a small word to the Father for my grand daughter, she is a precious one to us all.
Don

Pain, Real or Imagined?

2011-01-25T08:27:00.002-06:00

Just a few days ago I fell and damaged some cartilage in my side, or more dramatically cracked a rib. I'm pretty sure I didn't break a rib because I witnessed my dad several years ago struggle with broken ribs, and he is made of much tougher stuff than I. He functioned only with the help of pretty strong medicine. I am not there. In fact the next morning I went and worked out according to my normal routine.

But let me say that an injury high in the rib cage impacts just about everything you do. I can't sleep on my back or my right side. Normally this would not be a big deal, but my bride sleeps on my right due to an older injury of a dislocated collar bone. So snuggling is out until this heals, or I get out of bed and sneak up on her from her side of the bed.
Coughing and sneezing are adventures. AH-CHOO, Ouch! But the real explosion of pain is burping, which I have discovered tends to sneak up on you. So the exclamation that follows can be a bit more colorful.
You can't lean over. You can't pick anything up. You can't sit very long in any position. You can't stand very long. And most distressing, you can't hold grand babies as long.

It also takes longer to heal. In the old days, an injury would bother me for a day to two, then be gone. Injuries now become a matter of life style they last so long. I don't take any other medications, but Tylenol and Advil have become traveling partners, candy that I pop in every 4 hours or so.

But these aches and pains are accommodated and treated and life goes on. What I have discovered is that emotional pain has also developed a much longer recuperation cycle as well. I am not sure why this is so. My assumption would be that the more mature we grow, the better we are at dealing with emotional pain, at moving beyond the pain. Not so. I find that emotional trauma takes a long while to recover from as well. Slights and misunderstandings have to be given a longer lead time to go away.
I wondered about this not long ago during my disciplines and came to a rather startling insight. I give loyalty too easily and when that loyalty is violated, it almost never recovers. It is one of those odd facets of my nature that has been there for as long as I can remember. But instead of being able to work my way through it, I simply have become much less willing to let a violation like this subside. The only redeeming factor is that I have gotten better about not giving the loyalty very easily. It has made me more circumspect in that regard. I'm not sure if that is good or not. It simply is.

Perhaps this is just part of growing older. But I want to believe that I can sustain trauma and still recover, both physically and emotionally. There is probably some level of delusion here as well. Don't we all carry a little delusional qualities with us?

Anyway, healing seems to be happening, slowly to be sure.

Godspeed out there, try not to break anything that won't heal..be it bones or relationships.
Don

Looking Back

2011-01-18T08:07:00.002-06:00

This journey is not at all what I expected. I am in a place right now where the trail has leveled a bit, and my pack has slid to the ground, I am resting. But I look back along the trail and see the spots where I fell, where the trail was awfully steep, where it seemed that danger lurked around every turn. What I see are the spots that caused me the greatest angst. These spots were also of my own making.

This past weekend my bride and I went north to get our Isaac "fix". He is the youngest of our grandkids and is doing new stuff every day. If we don't make a plan to see him every week or so he just changes too much for us to keep up. He is working on the entire crawling thing. Arms extended, one knee in the proper position, but getting the other leg to work puts him on his face..it doesn't make him happy. But he grabs stuff, he is eating like a champ, he laughs at his daddy, and he is still not sleeping well. His mommy and daddy are payin' for their raisin' as we used to say, because neither one of them slept well as babies either.

After Mr Isaac went to bed, our d-i-l fixed a great dinner and we cracked open a bottle of chardonnay while we just sat and visited. The talk turned to my son's experiences in high school and the events that included him and us. My observation is that he remembers far more fondly than I do the times when we were at odds. From my rest stop on the trail, looking back at that particular trail events, all I see are my mis-steps. Over the years the impact of my poor parenting have grown in their significance. I made all the mistakes and they were deep and eternal from my view. He looks back and doesn't even remember a lot of that time and certainly doesn't view it as a huge deal. In fact, he kind of laughs about the entire deal, he laughs about his own response, he laughs at our reactions, it does not seem to have scarred him nearly as much as it has me.

And I get this from all my kids. They all think their raising was kind of fun. That we laughed a lot, that we had some great memories at the kitchen table. They remember things with great fondness that I have forgotten. They have forgotten the things that I deeply regret. Is it possible that I wasn't quite a bad a parent as I have always believed I was? My personal thought was that my weaknesses were overshadowed with my bride's innate ability to make it all work.

But, as they say, the proof is in the pudding. All my kids are mature, modest, compassionate people. Far more so than I am. They all are in good marriages, they all are raising outstanding grandkids. They all get along. And we all still laugh together. This last observation is possibly the one I am most proud of. We laugh. A lot.

It is about time to pick up the pack and get started again. But suddenly the trail ahead looks a little easier than the one behind. But the trail behind also looks a little more pleasantly remarkable than I remembered it. The straps fit well, the legs feel strong, new trail to be covered.

Godspeed to the travelers. I think we may be better at it than we realized.
Don

Fight or Flight?

2011-01-11T08:52:00.002-06:00

The news this week has been replete with the Tucson shootings, made even more spectacular due to the congresswoman being shot in the melee. The participants have been interviewed over and over again. The doctors have given their non-reports numerous times (whatever happened to the HIPPA provisions?) The talking heads have conjured up all sorts of tertiary angles. And the sad truth is, no one has an answer to the "why" question. It happened and will probably happen again, in another place, another setting, in the not too distant future. And we will be yanked back into the fear and paranoia that accompanies the unexplainable.

So what would you do if you are suddenly caught in the chaos of one of these situations? It seems to me that there are three categories of responses. One, run like the wind (or as close to it as you can, my 56-year-old body just doesn't motor like it used to.) A significant number of the "flight" crowd seem to escape injury and death. They are probably the smart ones, the ones who survive and make the camera appearances. Perhaps it is the historians among us who can run before thinking, they live to tell the tale. I might be one of those, but I suspect that by the time I figure out what is happening the event will be over and I will be one who is either wounded and bleeding on the ground or one of those old curmudgeons who had bullets whipping all around them and never really understood what was going on. Puzzled expression and the immortal words, "what the..."

Then there are the ones who are there with a loved one and their first thought is for them. The story of the guy covering his wife's body, and dying in that brave act of sacrifice, while she was wounded. I would do anything to save my bride, but she will need to be pretty quick on the uptake to clue me in on whats going on.
"What's that annoying popping sound?"
"Gunfire! you idiot!"
"Well, what would anyone be doing shooting a gun around here, that's not safe!"
"Get down you old fool!"
"What?"
We seem to be having some hearing problems these days..my hearing..her exasperation over having to repeat everything she says. Plus my reaction time is now measured in minutes, not seconds, or split-seconds. The only real help I may be would be to provide a much larger target than my bride. These "protectionists" don't seem to fare well in these stories.

Of course we always have the hero's among us. They can be young men, or old women. Recent stories of mature women taking on the heavily armed with nothing more than their purse is a little frightening to me. They even have time to make their escape, yet they turn into the fray. I was astonished at the older lady who grabbed the extra clip the guy was trying to load into his automatic, all the while berating him for his hatred and evil acts. THAT is a true mom, facing danger with the courage of combat veteran and not not losing the opportunity to scold and correct. I am serious here, I am stunned by her courage.
Then there was the young man who was armed and willing to tackle the guy before he could do more damage. His only explanation was that he was raised in the 9/11 generation. They expect stuff like this to happen, they are ready, they will not be caught off-guard. Talk about a generation gap. I have a lot of hope for the future when we have moms and young people who will do what is necessary to stop the insanity.

Here is my point. The world is changing in unimaginable ways. Our world of safe and secure is no longer an option. We will have to decide if we are flighters, fighters, or protectors. And the decision will have to be spur of the moment. It is our nature and mind bent that will determine how we react. But the fact is that our world has changed, and in so doing has changed us.

Godspeed out there, the trail seems a bit narrower, and the wilderness a bit closer in.
Don

A Look Ahead

2011-01-04T08:35:00.002-06:00

Well the holidays have come and gone. My bride and I managed to stay sick during most of the open time. Fever and chills and mild nausea do not a merry Christmas or New Years make. But we managed to spend time with those most precious to us, hugged on kids, cuddled with grandkids, and visited with friends and extended family. So the holidays were good, I just wish we had felt better.

I am back at Panera's this morning, looking through facebook (a new task) answering emails (an old task) and once again blogging (a never-ending task) So what does the new year bring? It has to be more profitable than this last. I have only been unemployed for an extended time one other time, it is unpleasant for a variety of reasons, but the uncertainty is the biggest fear. However, the wisdom of the spiritual disciplines was affirmed, particularly the discipline of frugality. We managed to make 9 months on savings and a little help from our friends. It is always tempting to question why this is happening, but I have never received a really satisfying answer to the "why" question. My training has turned me more towards the "how" and "what" questions. So even the holidays were a nice respite, it is time to strap on the workboots and get going.

There are a few things I would like to have resolved this year. I don't like our current status of member-at-large" for spiritual home base. The local churches that we have occasioned have deeply disappointed us. But I yearn for a church home, a place where we can settle and be accepted. I'm wondering if a new start with a new group would be better. In the meantime I keep praying for a shift or change where we are, either in my head or the in the structure of the organism itself. We will see.

I would like to see my career status stabilize. I love to work, I love to build and plan, to strategize, to implement. 9 months of trying to find the next place beats down my spirit and makes me paranoid. The other night my bride woke me up as I was struggling with someone who was holding me from behind. I was striking back, she grabbed my arm and finally woke me up enough to end the dream. She was trying to avoid a black eye, I was fighting to break free. The struggle is more emotional than real, but it is none the less a struggle. Plus I hate having no money, it is the pits.

Travel is a part of what I do and I don't know if I miss the travel because of the places I go, or because it means I'm working. But I miss the entire deal, and am a little ashamed to admit it. The people are fascinating, the places are fun to experience, the challenge of getting from one place to another makes me tick. I still don't miss eating alone, but I will make that concession to get the rest of it. I have found that my body gets beat up when I travel a lot, so the discipline of working out becomes even more important.

So here's hoping that the new year brings a stability to the Jolly household. Here's to working.

Godspeed on the journey, occasionally the trail is a little uphill. We put our heads down and place one step in front of another.

Don

I Yam What I Yam

2010-12-21T08:25:00.002-06:00

The old spinach eater knew a lot about people. Over the years I have come to understand that people are wired a particular way and no amount of training or self-help or positive thinking will change the original wiring.

For instance. There are people who are inherently generous. Then there are people who are not encumbered with the chip of generosity. I have worked for people who simply could not stand to be generous, earned bonuses drove them to distraction. I think it made them literally ill to consider giving to others. Even when those others made their business profitable after years of declining revenue and declining profits. The spirit simply could not find a way to accept the contributions with grace and reward.

There are people who struggle to empathize, to understand the struggles of others. Mercy, humility, steadfastness, and the list goes on describe people who have a particular nature, and describes those who don't.

My favorite Christmas story is from a funny little book called Red Ranger Came Calling by Berkley Breathed, narrated by the little boy in the story tells us what his mother thought of him.." I did not typically give much thought to the feelings of others, and - true to form - I did not that night. My mother used to tell me that there is a natural order to all things and that mine must have been to prickliness, She said that blaming me - or anyone else - for my distant nature would be like blaming a polar bear for eating Canadians. It was the natural order and that was that."

So I have come to accept the moniker of Grinch for my family. I do not fully accept the designation, but in comparison to my bride and my daughters, I fall closer the Grinch end of the continuum than I do the Christmas Spirit end. I yam what I yam. I love the family being together, I love the flush of joy when someone opens a gift of particular meaning. I'm not a big fan of the musical score of the season, the crowds around malls give me a headache, it makes my stomach hurt when I think my kids have spent too much on my gifts, so I guess the green T-shirt should be worn with pride, or at least some level of recognition.

But the chances are that I won't change much in the years to come. I will continue to cherish the moments with my bride, with Jordan and Brad, with Eli and Phoebe, with Ben and Sarah and little Isaac, and Shane and Carrie and of course lincoln. If that moves me into the Grinch area..well so be it.

Godspeed to all you Christmas Spirit crowd, the verde crowd will pick up the wrappings.
Don

Connected

2010-12-16T07:55:00.002-06:00

If you follow this post you know my girls set me up on Facebook over the Thanksgiving break. This connecting me to the world of cyber-relationships has been both a bother and an eye-opener.

1. Blackberry's are not designed to be efficient in Facebooking. Oh, you get the notices of people befriending, you get notices of chatter back and forth. You can even send a response. What you can't do is read it because the font is too small! My bride and I spend enough time passing assembly instructions, prescription directions, ad small print, etc back and forth and saying.."Can you read this?" Neither of us can, so we guess at a large part of the informational age. I am just a little jealous of my son-in-law's I-pad. Huge print, easy to read. However, it does look like the equivalent of those giant pencils and Red Chief notebooks we used in first grade.

2. Where the heck did my quiet, strongly introverted bride get all these friends?!? Some of them are probably work associates, some are probably church people who don't like me but like her (far more common than you would imagine) some might be yoga pals, college chums. Who knows? But because she and I are linked (Facebook wise) I get to wade around in all their lives. But there are tons of them!

3. What is up with the "like" designation. Does this mean we agree? Does it mean that the entry has some significance? Does it mean that I now have to formulate an opinion about it? Should I comment? Should I tell them when I don't "like" their inane comment? What is the protocol. In real life (not cyber life) I can call someones hand on a stupid comment, I can argue, I can close the conversation. Who cares if I "like" your comment, or if you "like" mine. By the way, if you don't like mine it means you are not quite cerebral enough or knowledgeable enough or in-crowd enough to get it.

4. And here is the real observation. My generation feels that all this cyber-relational stuff is going to stunt our children and grandchildren. That this new conversational construct will harm us all in some way. I felt that way. This past month has changed my mind. I am able to keep up with folks that I used to never speak to, or at least only occasionally. Now I know when their kids are sick, or hurting, or accomplished. Now I can tell when the other shoe has dropped. Now I know when to pick up the phone and call, instead of hearing months later that an old friend could use an encouraging word. This new level of relational connection has shrunk the globe and the clock to a manageable proportion. The communities that will be truly efficient in caring for the inhabitants of that community will embrace this new world. Some of us who are older will do so slower and with a considerable amount of grumbling, but we will do it.

By the way, I still enjoy a good phone visit.

Godspeed to all you cyber-relationalists, stay in touch.
Don

Creative Dissonance

2010-12-14T08:53:00.003-06:00

My body is at odds with what is going on in the world. This very cold weather creates the appetite for the very best foods. Stews, soups, warm pasta dishes with heavy sauce, all flavor the kitchen and the dinner table. This may be why I love this time of year. The dutch oven is my refound old friend. So far this past week or so, it has been chili, jolly girl's stew, and beef/vegetable soup. Of course all this has to be served with either cornbread (my mom's recipe, which she made at least 6 or 8 times a week and had to be stopped and measured by my bride and s-i-l to get the right blend; Mom never measured, she just threw it together and it was always good) or with really good bread and lots and lots of real butter. My eldest daughter insists on real butter. So the house smells great, the jeans fit a little snugger.

So my bride's solution is to work out. we started months ago heading to the gym at 4:30...AM. Yes, children there is a 4:30 in the morning. We have been very faithful in this. Three times a week I hit the elliptical for 30 minutes in "interval" or "sprint" training. The other two days are weights for upper body, legs, and back. It makes me feel good, it keeps my weight slightly under the morbidly obese level, and it is quality time with my bride where I am not wanted or expected to communicate. Of course at 4:30 in the AM what could we possibly have to discuss? So we roll out, get into our workout togs and head out.

Gym culture is a very different culture. We each prefer no one speak to us and we find it a huge burden and incredible gym faux pas to have anyone say anything other than, "are you finished with that machine?" We have a guy who is there every other week we call the "groaner" He makes a lot of noise working out, groaning while he lifts, belching loudly, and horror of horrors, talking to us occasionally. He hit on my youngest child once about running barefooted (yes, he works out barefooted, and doesn't wipe down the machines.) I have thought about discussing his lack of manners, but the humiliation of getting pounded by this lout keeps me quiet. More people are showing up recently and I'm hoping this puts him off enough to keep it all to himself. My quiet, sweet, non-confrontational bride just turns on the TV so loud that none of the rest of us can hear him half the time anyway.

So I am finding this dissonance about eating and working out a struggle to balance. My nature tends towards the eating, but my natural gift towards weight gain pushes me towards the gym, in the dark, in the cold, against all that is human. I just have to last until spring when the menus will hold things like summer hash, grilled meats, and fresh veggies. And my bride is off from the school year and we can make the trek at a more reasonable hour.

Godspeed to those out there who are density gifted and vertically challenged.
Don

Urge, Instinct, Energy?

2010-12-10T07:31:00.002-06:00

Last night while flying in from Ft. Lauderdale, we approached from the southeast into the Dallas area, swung around the airport and glided in from the north. I had a window seat and watched as the ground below turned from an occasional sparkle of light to concentrated towns and 'burgs, then the slow and inevitable wash of solid lights from under the plane to the far horizon. An impressive amount of light, lined up in rows in some places marking streets and thoroughfares, at other times buildings and commerce. Light rising from under my vantage point marching outward into nothingness on the horizon. My thoughts turned from the number of lights to the number of people that this man made phenomenon represented. It is even more stunning to fly into Los Angeles and to realize that the plane has carried a vista for more than 30 minutes at the rough speed of a .45 caliber bullet leaving the handgun. Millions of lights..millions of people.

A quote popped unbidden into my head. I have no idea where I read it. "Every time I see a huge gathering of people in a football stadium or any other event, it occurs to me that every one of those people are there because two people had sex." I will pause a moment and let the little gasps stop, to allow the Beavus and Butthead snickers to subside. There, done?

Now think about the incredible power that this one aspect of our human nature represents. There is simply no way to quantify the magnitude of it. It is at once incredibly personal, intimate, and private; and yet it is also undeniably forceful, an incredible force that simply cannot be stopped.Evident in the lights and scurrying activity of all the metropolises in the world. Even as I fly west towards the left hand coast I fly over miles and miles of desolation, but not empty. A few sparkling lights that indicate that even where there is no water, no industry, a moonscape of rock and sand..there is still a few hardy souls that have outposted an unforgiving existence and have managed to repopulate, to extend the force into inhospitable locales.

This simple sole-focused activity is so powerful that it can only be the desire of a greater power. To allow this power as a force on earth over the centuries indicates a collaboration of flesh and divine. I have always wondered if in the moment of release if we are not experiencing the closest thing to heavenly rapture we know here on this plane. Perhaps this is, in some way, a preview of the rapture we will experience in the future.

You might say that the American culture is too focused on this power, too much in our secular lives. But I tell you the power exists in every culture and in every moment in time, unyielding in its presence and always marching forward. God built a powerful engine when he developed this in our DNA, it is even more powerful than governments, nation-states, global economy, or military might. And it is held in the hand of the creator, the ultimate power.

Godspeed, every once in while these moments overwhelm me for a few seconds.
Don

Back in the Saddle

2010-12-08T08:23:00.002-06:00

Back to work. No money yet, but while working at least I'm busy and have a place to go, people to see. While I worry about the money at least I'm able to do something, to stay in the game. Several times a day I am reminded of the movie "Dumb and Dumber" ...So you're saying I've got a chance! For the aficionados of this movie you will know what I'm talking about. Meanwhile a few observations.

Flew to the city of Angels last week, then to Phoenix, then home. This week to St. Louis, connect through Chicago, on to Ft. Lauderdale. Six opportunities to go through security. Six opportunities to be scanned, to undergo a pat-down. Nothing. Regular process, shoes off, cell phone off, anticipation....off. The usual frustration with the amateur fliers, you mean I can't carry on this 64oz bottle of lotion I bought at Walmart? Those of us in line behind these folks want them to be scanned, just to get out of the way. TSA agents look just as disinterested as they did before this entire broohaw over the scanning deal. Actually I feel bad for them. I can't imagine they want to grope us any more than we want to be groped.

On a whim yesterday I grabbed my leather coat for the trip. I had on a sweater. Should be enough, right? Landed at STL, grabbed my bags, stood outside waiting for a car-rental shuttle for 20 minutes..in 16 degree weather. Upper body just fine. Legs freezing because of the summer weight slacks. Rookie mistake. Shuttle driver finally arrived full of good cheer, "Welcome! Glad you are here! Thanks for doing business with us!" I thought, "Get the hell out of my way, I'm freezing my cajones off here!" I said nothing, couldn't, jaw was frozen.

Customers are really picking apart the product line. I love it, it only confirms what I have been telling the folks in the office. There is a real tendency in most organizations to feel that the product is the be-all, end-all. It is what I refer to as "breathing your own air" The customers will tell you like it is, no sugar-coating. It is my firm belief that there is no such thing as bad information. There is only useful information (both positive and negative) or less-useful information. But I get to do what I love to do, developing a story for the product line. Gathering all the information I can to give my reps the best chance of placing the business. My bride feels there is something desperately wrong with me, that this particular challenge drives me. But I do love it, and I have missed it over the past 8 months.

If you are a praying person, lift a short one up for me. I will need all the help I can get.

Godspeed out there. Back in the saddle is such a good thing.
Don

Thanksgiving

2010-11-26T09:02:00.002-06:00

This was a year of changing plans and venues. What was originally set to be an event at our house was changed to Amarillo at my eldest daughter's house. After I had reconciled myself to not having all at our house this year, I got my head right to make the trip.

Now my eldest daughter and her family live a truly great house. Lots of room, spaces to escape to (if need be) lots of room outdoors if you can handle the wind and the cold, just a comfortable place to settle.

So Tuesday, my bride and I and our youngest with her boy Lincoln set out from Dallas to Amarillo. It was beautiful day to drive and visit. We put on The Incredibles for Lincoln to watch and we listened, and we visited. With a minimum of stops, we were in Amarillo a quick 7 hours later. Shane, the s-i-l flew in early Thursday AM, and we had the full compliment of kids/grandkids to make the holiday complete.
Wednesday was food shopping, food prep, and food planning day. I washed every dish in the kitchen three times, with a few of them (cutting boards in particular) more times than I can count.

My bride's extended family came mid-afternoon, which raised the number from 12 to 23 (I think) Apparently we made more food than we needed, we could have fed 50 or more. AS the afternoon wore on it made me thankful for a few things in particular.

First of all, I love it that my kids and their spouses get along so well. They love to joke and visit, poke fun at me and each other. I understand that this may be due to the fact that there hasn't been enough time to build grievances or grudges. It may be that we can all hold it together for a couple of days that might be greater challenge if it were longer. But whatever the reason, they joke and laugh, counsel and encourage, but mostly they raise my spirits and make we wonder how this blessing has been visited on me. It is a joy that I do not take lightly.

Secondly, it is grandparent nirvana. There are only a couple of times a year that we get all four grandkids together. Each one is so special in their own way. Eli is growing up so fast, he has become all legs and arms and missing teeth. He is slipping into the role of oldest cousin very easily. I hope he never loses that desire to play with each of the younger cousins at their level. Miss Phoebe is all charm. She dances and sings, and shines that gamin grin on me and melts my heart. She is a 1000 watt bulb in my world. Mr. Lincoln is the most sociable little guy I have ever met. He loves to play and eat and visit. This holiday he is taking his first steps and holding the spoon. Soon he will be too quick to keep up with. Isaac is just emerging. Almost 6 months and he is looking around, laughing at whatever tickles his fancy, and apparently thriving on his all "momma-milk" diet. He has a very consternated look, but it might be the noise and the flying feet, elbows, toys, couch cushions that had landed near or on him. He is one cuddly baby.
In all of this I have apparently forgotten how to say "no" It is much easier to get a parent and let them be the heavy, I prefer to play the good cop. Although, now that I think about it, I really don't enforce any rules, so I'm not really a cop, more of the friendly crossing guard.

Finally, I am most grateful for the partner in life that has helped and guided and supported me through all the struggles of adulthood. My bride is healthy and kind and persevering, she does not complain, she is not a whiner. She keeps me focused and balanced. I can't believe we have spent 35+ years doing this. It has flown by in the best of ways.

So a good Thanksgiving all around. Later I will post on getting "set up" on Facebook. My girls had great fun at my expense, so it will be a post worth reading.

Godspeed as we stop and ponder for a moment the truly remarkable blessing visited on us all.
Don

When At the End

2010-11-16T07:16:00.002-06:00

Sunday I watched as a man "resigned" from his place as a spiritual leader of the community that he had been a part of for a number of years. There was no moral breakdown, there was no pressure for him to step down, there was nothing untoward in anything in this other than he and his wife are moving to Houston due to job change. For them it was an end of an era in their lives; unexpected, unwanted, but necessary. As he emotionally read his message to the community, my thoughts ran to some of the events in my life that reflected change that was happening beyond my control and beyond my understanding. Sometimes life is like that.

My thoughts ran towards the events that have occurred in my life that ended relationships, ended ministry, ended jobs and short-circuited career, ended innocence and certainly ended naivete. They say that the first casualty of war is innocence, I believe that to be true of adulthood as well.

But along the way I found some words that have helped me move past the loss of motivation, the loss of innocence. They are words by a lady named Helen Steiner Rice. I want to share them with you.

A Bend in the Road
By Helen Steiner Rice

When we feel we have nothing left to give
And we are sure that the “song has ended”–
When our day seems over and the shadows fall
And the darkness of night has descended.
Where can we go to find the strength
To valiantly keep on trying,
Where can we find the hand that will dry
The tears that the heart is crying–
There’s but one place to go and that is to God
And, dropping all pretense and pride,
We can pour out our problems without restraint
And gain strength with Him at our side–
And together we stand at life’s crossroads
And view what we think is the end,
But God has a much bigger vision
And He tells us it’s only a bend–
For the road goes on and is smoother,
And the “pause in the song” is a “rest”,
And the part that’s unsung and unfinished
Is the sweetest and richest and best–
So rest and relax and grow stronger,
Let go and let God share your load,
Your work is not finished or ended,
You’ve just come to “a bend in the road”.~

Every line in the poem speaks to me. I find myself at a great many crossroads these days and wonder what the rest of the journey looks like. Is it short or long? Will it be as fulfilling as the start of the journey? Will I see a dead end or a bend?
My mental image is one of God lightly resting his hand on my shoulder and whispering to me that the journey still has to be traveled..but never alone. Never, ever alone.

Godspeed, my prayer is that your journey is "smoother" and the "pause in the song" is not too long.
Don

The Moment

2010-11-09T07:04:00.002-06:00

I have spent the last two days trying to decide how to communicate this entry. On the one hand, I don't want to throw anyone under the bus, but on the other hand this moment I want to share hits a critical understanding of our current state of affairs in Christian worldview movement.

Here is what I am talking about. The "preacher/senior minister/pulpit guy" has for years suffered from a hip deterioration due to a motorcycle accident from his misspent youth (he is open about his rascally ways as a young man, so I am not gossipping) Well, the hip has been replaced several times, he spends months on crutches, he has always walked with a noticeable limp, it is what the doctors refer to as "chronic." As in, they can't fix him to the point where he walks normally or lives day-to-day without pain. Over the past several months this condition has deteriorated to the point where he can't get out of bed without dislocating the hip, which has happened numerous times in the past few weeks.

All that said to focus on the response of the congregation. They have applied additional prayer and fasting to his situation in the hope that he will be healed and restored to the pulpit. It hasn't happened. In fact, he has gotten worse (he is probably tempted to ask everyone to ease up on the prayer because it is killing him!) But he and I have spoken several times about the hand of God in all this, and his timing and his purposes. As frustrating as it may be, the preacher is dealing pretty well with the results of his faith.

This past Sunday a man got up to lead a prayer and in essence called God to account for not answering the prayers as we have offered them. Bold move, but I loved the honesty of his frustration and care for his friend. You see I have been there numerous times over the past 30 years or so. I watched my mother, who was a deeply committed believer, die of cancer. There have been uncountable moments praying for my eldest daughter who is a three-time cancer survivor. My only grandaughter has a congenital heart defect that must be surgically repaired early next year. My grandson from my youngest daughter was born with a birth defect that demanded major surgery followed by a month long stay in NICU. Watching my son and daughter-in-law lose hope and joy as they struggled for years to start their own family. So the kneeling position of heartbroken prayer is one that I am long accustomed to.

But the God that I serve has bigger plans than making my life easier. He makes it clear from the beginning that he will sacrifice anything to accomplish his purposes, from allowing my mother to suffer and die, to allowing my daughter to learn realities that most young women do not struggle with, to breaking my heart over my grandaughter and grandson, to realize that my son and his bride might face a future that they dreaded, and yes, to having his son murdered for the sake of his mission. Once we understand this single concept it changes our theology about this world, about our suffering, and about our place in it. This development of this particular theology takes years, years of thought and meditation, years of heartbreak, and years of pursuing the discernment that only God can provide.

So as I sat there and watched this man articulate his frustration, I was overwhelmed with the desire to make my way to his side and explain that our small view of how each situation may not fit into the overall plan. God's approach is not always a "cause and effect". That the only guarantee for us is that we will suffer, but will be given the opportunity to do so with dignity, with honor, and with others. The response was fully formed and would have been delivered with as much empathy as I had. Where are the "elders" of this group? Do they not feel the prompting that I do? I am no longer viewed as spiritual guide by this group, it is not my place. Is there not one of them that can lovingly articulate the teaching moment?

Now the moment is gone, never to be retrieved. We only get moments like these to teach every once in a great while. Why did I not jump to my feet when prompted to do so? Mostly my pride kept me from it, this group had rejected me and my ministry years before, so I withheld the wisdom that God placed in my life. I made a mistake. Where were the guys that ARE designated as the "shepherds/elders"?

This is what is wrong with the christian movement as we know it. The adherents are not well versed in the theology of God's mission. The leaders are more concerned about organization than maturation. Those of us who have tried and been rejected are not responding to the prompting of the Spirit because we have been wounded and refuse to place ourselves in that position again. We all dropped the ball.

I hate self awareness.

Godspeed, a little wrong turn on the journey. It happens.
Don

A Song on Our Hearts

2010-11-02T07:40:00.002-05:00

This past Saturday our little group sang 9 songs at the Glenn Heights Familyfest. We were scheduled for 1:30, but were a little delayed by the group in front of us. Not a big deal except that the wind was really picking up and I discovered something about singing in 40 mph winds.

1. The good close harmony we worked so hard on is gone, blown away by the wind whistling in the microphones.
2. You can't hear the monitor, the other singers, or anything else, all you can see is the crowd looking pleasant, or bored, or confused.
3. There is a rush to performing that I can understand is addictive. And of course the little let down afterwards.
4. My idea of "flash church" will work. We are working out the details now. More later.
5. I am stunned that I remembered all the words and most of the musical "nuances" I have a habit of forgetting stuff about 96 seconds after I am told what to do. Most music directors find that a little frustrating.

So we sang and had a good time. Folks were both gracious and complementary. I got to do something I hadn't done in 40 years.

We had fun.

So Godspeed out there, I will keep you posted on our next venue.
Don

New Experiences

2010-10-26T07:41:00.002-05:00

As we get older there is a tendency to shy away from new experiences. Perhaps it is because we are simply too worn down to expend the effort. Maybe it is because over the years we have decided that surprises are generally painful. It could be that we simply like our lives and don't want to upset the applecart. But I believe that in order to stay connected, to stay vital,we have to continue to try new things. We have to push ourselves to keep our minds and bodies challenged in ways we would never have considered when we were younger.

These new experiences can come in any number of forms. My bride and I love to go to new places, see different things, eat different food, taste the wine from different parts of our lives and places. Some folks my age are prepping for marathons (I am usually quick to point out that the first guy that ran the marathon delivered his news of a battle victory..then died) New crafts and hobbies are being taken up, new languages learned, new skills acquired. It is all a part of people realizing that they still have life to live, that the best is not behind, but ahead.

With all that in mind, a little group that we associate with love to sing. We sing on vacations, we sing in the car, we sing where ever we find ourselves. Not long ago I discovered that our little community of Glenn Heights was having a "familyfest" or carnival. They invited anyone who wanted to preform to sign up and get an assigned slot. I mentioned it to the guy in our group that is the instigator of our singing and he, as he puts it, was "all about that" So we have actually practiced a few times and we are singing Saturday @ 1:30 in the park in Glenn Heights (this is a blatant pitch)

Let me say that I am not comfortable with this AT ALL. I am confident in a lot of areas in my life, this is not one of them. But I feel that this is a rehearsal for my concept of a different church model and I wanted a trial run. It pushes me to do something that I am self-conscious about. It makes me queasy and excited all at the same time. It will be good for me. It also gives me the chance to see if God answers prayers of the foolish.

So we are singing 6 or 8 songs on Saturday 10/30. Come and witness this triumph or debacle. I will be the one nervous and sweating on the end.

Godspeed, try something new. If nothing else it eliminates the things you think you can do.

Don

Who me?

2010-10-21T08:09:00.002-05:00

As I have written over the past several months, I am associated with a group in California that is setting up a new company. This is literally ground floor stuff. In other words, we have nothing set up. This week the little inventory we have is being moved from Anaheim to Temecula CA, the phone is changing, the address is changing, I think we are still in the same time zone.

This adventure is new to me. Everywhere I have worked before has the infrastructure needed to move the business along. The computers were all linked, the invoices were issued, the purchase orders, the pick tickets, the inventory counted, the phones were installed, the mail was delivered or picked up, the bathroom was cleaned, the coffee cups were washed....by someone else.

We meet and I tell them what I need to do my job, and as I am saying it I can see the look on someones face that I am loading them down with another task, another project that needs to be done. I'm trying to be sensitive to this, but as my bride will tell you, sensitivity is really not my long suit.

On my end, I am finding myself developing customer lists, dividing territories, developing spreadsheets with forecasts, thinking up sales promotions...then typing them up..myself. It is so odd to think of something that needs to be done then realize I have to add it to my list of projects. Sigh. And all this without getting a paycheck. You see, this is a start up and no revenue until we ship something.

So I am hit by the realization that if it is going to get done, I have to do it. Not all bad, though. For once I am getting to set this deal up as I would see fit. Process developing is one of the things I do really well. Of course some day, if this thing survives some punk kid will step in and just assume that all these plans and protocol just appeared for his convenience. I don't like him already.

Godspeed out there for those who are starting over. It is not all bad, it just doesn't pay all that great...or at all.
Don

World Changer

2010-10-15T07:17:00.002-05:00

Last night we received the news that one of our dear friends lost her dad. It was not unexpected. He had been ill for quite some time, on hospice for several weeks, a multitude of problems. They had made a visit to Dallas in August when their granddaughter was married, he came but even then spent a day or so in the hospital before they could travel home.

I'm saying all this because it impacts us when people we know and love are hurting. I think there is something significant added when the opposite-sex parent passes away. There is a shift in the world, a slightly out-of-focus feeling that dims the joy for a time. You see, I think that we get most of our views about the opposite sex from the parent that represents that gender. How we interact with our spouses, our kids that don't share our gender, office partners, friends, etc. is all developed in that first significant interaction with our parent of that same group. For guys to lose their mothers, as I have, or women to lose their dads, as my bride has, severs the connection to the "original." We now feel that we are on our own. Of course this is predicated on having some sort of decent relationship with that parent, but even if the relationship was rocky, or abusive, or distant, the disconnection creates a disturbance in our world.

When my mom passed away we were desperately trying to get there in time. We didn't. I walked into the hospital room, saw the empty bed and knew that I had missed the moment. Oh we knew for months this moment was coming..sooner rather than later, but the suddenness and the finality were overwhelming. I remember June Ice grasping my arms just above the elbows and staring into my face and telling me she was "gone." Gone, what an odd word for that moment. She was not alive, but her memory was far from gone. It is said that when there are no living humans who remember your name..then you are gone. I have felt that I probably should go apologize to June for being such a lump. I couldn't think of anything to say. There are snippets of memories about the next few days, but there is no denying that the event changed the shape of my world and my heart permanently.

Godspeed Rebecca, travel safe the next few days will be filled with tears and trouble, smiles and hugs, memories and dimmed future, separation and intimacy. The white noise you hear in your head is normal, it quiets in time. We love you, hurt with you, most of all..we understand.

Don

Scattershooting

2010-10-12T07:29:00.002-05:00

There are several small events that I wanted to include in the blog, but each not big enough to fill a space on their own..

So here goes.

The Chilean miners are being rescued in the next day or so using a sort of tube to pull them out one at a time. The tube reminds me of the tubes that the drive-in bank uses to shoot through the tube. I'm sure the miners will have a slightly slower ride back to the surface. To tell you the truth I had not really considered the realities of this rescue until I saw a guy wedged into the thing as they were testing it. There is good reason that they are putting those guys on a liquid diet before they haul them to the surface...easier to clean to tube. 'Nuff said. A couple things I wonder about, though. Do they get overtime for the 2 months they were on the job? I'm guessing not, I can hear the HR person calmly explaining that they really weren't "mining" during all that time, it was really more like vacation..with 32 sweaty men in the dark, 90 degrees. Yeah, that's my idea of a vacation.

November 2 we get to do a mulligan on senators, reps, and governors. There is something uniquely American that we just don't like a single party holding all the chips. We tend to vote the number out that kind of levels the playing field. My own cynicism sneaks in and tells me that one side is not particularly better than the other, but it is fun to watch all the shenanigans. So if you are liberal and are shaking in your boots about the loss of influence..don't worry, you get a mulligan in two years. If you are a conservative, hope you like the reprieve, American voters are a fickle lot. Either way we have find a way to make it work.

ACU Homecoming. My favorite event is the golf tournament that my good friend Don Fry always gets me into. I think he is still waiting for me to bring my "A" game, which probably got mothballed years ago. But we play with his son and s-i-l, and have a good time. I remember years ago that I was the one who was keeping it light and funny, but now Don (who we call Fry) is the enthusiast, the greeter, the room-worker. For some reason the years have turned me into an old grumbly man. Maybe I'll get my good cheer back in my second childhood. Should be soon now. But I do love playing with those guys. The only other event I go to is the parade, which is really just an excuse to spend time with my grandkids, watching as they pick up the candy that the parade participants "spilled" (a term my granddaughter used, as good as any)

My 7-year-old grandson had an honest to goodness par on a par 3. We played a small course in Abilene where he hit a 3-wood to 10 ft of the green, chipped on with a SW, then a 5' putt for an honest, no help from grandaddy, par. I kept the card, it is my reward for getting to spend these precious moments with my grandson. It is my dream to live long enough and play well enough for him to have to walk slow and make allowances for grandaddy while we play. Probably not that far in the future actually.

So just scattershooting, life moves ahead, the world spins on and on.

Godspeed out there, notice the little things, they add up to the big things.
Don

Sayings

2010-10-01T07:09:00.003-05:00

This past week I was reading a little blurb in the newspaper about former president Jimmy Carter being admitted to the hospital after a flight into Washington DC. The article claimed he was "rushed to the hospital." When we have to go to the hospital, last minute aren't we all rushed? Do we ever stroll or dawdle or meander to the hospital? No! If I need to be at the hospital, I need to be there NOW! A couple of years ago I had a virus that manifested itself in severe chest pains and general yucky feelings. There is not many things that will make a ER jump like a middle-aged guy walking in, pasty-faced and complaining of chest pains..another saying, "complaining of ..." I wasn't complaining, I was explaining. So this got me to thinking about the sayings we use that always communicate a universal message.

Older sayings are beginning to confuse us now. "A stitch in time saves nine." Having been in the apparel business for years I know this one. It used to take nine yards of fabric to make a business suit because it was lined with the same fabric as the outer shell. So if it began to unravel somewhere you needed to stop the destruction by stitching the fabric back together, doing it early saved the entire suit. So you save the entire nine yards of fabric.

"You can't teach an old dog new tricks." Sure you can, a fully charged shock collar can make a dead dog twitch a little, a live one, even if old, will fall all over itself to please the holder of control panel. The saying remains, it is just more a generality than a rule.

"All hat and no cattle" I like this one because it sounds uniquely Texan. It simply means someone is trying to act like something they are not. We all do it, we just ignore our propensity for putting on the dog..oh, wait there's another one.

A few of my favorites:
"Never let your money get mad."
"If the horse is dead..dismount"
"Pigs get fat, hogs get slaughtered"
"Don't jump over dollars to pick up nickels"

My least favorite:
"This is the exception that proves the rule" No, any exception undermines the rule!

I have threatened to write this entire blog with only lines from movies, but frankly that seems like a lot of trouble. So these sayings are for you.
Let me know if you don't understand any of them.

Godspeed, keep the faith..right on..we shall overcome.
Don

Old Friends

2010-09-28T06:41:00.002-05:00

For the past few months this journey has taken me over some rocky ground. Job hunting and rejection on a regular basis is sure fire way to have a usually sunny disposition dampened. So the journey has seemed a little uphill. One becomes hyper-sensitive to slights and perceived slights. It is not a good place to be. My mindset has gotten increasingly moody and morose. Everyday was a little cloudy.

A couple of months ago I had an idea that I ran past my little community of faith. There was some enthusiasm, then a waning of interest, then an opportunity to revisit the idea in a slightly different form, and now the idea has a little bit of momentum. It has to do with our group singing in a public forum, which I haven't done since high school, and it is spiritual songs. So I began to look for a set of discs that I used to listen to all the time that would get my voice back to a certain stage, etc.

Last night I found the discs, stuck under a desk, gathering dust. On the way to Panera this morning I listened to the close, tight, four-part harmony, the really good theology, and realized that I had missed my old friends. They had been my companions on the drives to Abilene for classes, they had helped me study, they had helped drop the theology from my head to my heart. While getting my Masters a few years ago there had not been much encouragement, so the songs of God's love and sacrifice gave me the will to finish.

So I popped one of these old friends in the player in my little Ranger and sang along. It helped me soften the edge of the theology in my head. You see, when theology is all head and no heart it can become strict and unrelenting, judgemental. Music without good theology becomes soft and formless, worthless when the storms rage around. You have to have both, good music and good theology, music for the heart, words for the head.

My old friends are back and as helpful as ever. They put a smile on my face, as old friends always do.

Godspeed out there on the journey, here's hoping the next stage is a little smoother, a little less rocky.
Don

Times..They are A'Changin'

2010-09-22T07:08:00.002-05:00

There are emerging patterns that I am seeing that re enforce my feeling that times are changing in significant ways. Sometimes these things happen and it comes to nothing, sometimes these events/movements/ideas seem insignificant at the time, but with time are understood to be world changers. We will see.

Over the past several months my workspace has been at our kitchen table, at the laptop, with the TV on in the background. As those who know me, this is a troublesome set up. I admit it, I like people, more importantly, I like interaction with people. This monastic work situation does not suit me well. After a couple of hours of quiet I start looking for someone to talk to. Not on the phone, a real person with expressions and body language and those funny little nervous conversational twitches we all have. To talk and share ideas and disagree and laugh fuel my engine. Maggie the dog is not a viable alternative. So I watch CNN and FoxNews. These two channels are sort of the yin and yang of news TV. They don't agree at all. I flip between the two because it fascinates me how a singular event or concept can have such varying opinions. I enjoy FoxNews a little more and spent a little time reflecting why that was so. Am I closet republican? I always considered myself sort of apolitical. Then I realized that FoxNews is just hammering the leadership, and that is what appealed to me. On further reflection it dawned on me that while I don't want to be in charge, I really don't want anyone else in charge either. It makes my bride a little nuts, but it works for me. But this Tea Party deal is great fun to watch develop. I will tell you, neither one of the big political machines like the newcomer. I'm rooting for them. Our nation needs a good old-fashioned dust up. This political landscape is changing, it can only be good. Meanwhile I need the job to start to get me back in the groove.

On another front, I started a little group on Sunday mornings that will look at what God has done, what His methods are, and where all this seems to be going. This journey started about 6 or 7 years ago for me and I am now exporting the concept. At the core of this thought journey is the realization that "church" as we know it does not work. Oh, it will clunk along for a few more decades, but not much longer than that. Why? I think my son-in-law put it best, "we do not see the value in organized church for us or our family." You have to know this man to understand how foundationally shifting this will be. He and my daughter are what churches look for in their young families..conservative, sensible, dedicated, focused. They have taken a long hard look and discovered that "church" will have to happen relationally. Outside the walls. I decided that after this last meeting, it does no good to criticise or fuss about the "church"..it is dead already, it is now a museum from another time. The trick now is to try and help the younger families key in on what God is trying to do.. to help them redefine what "church" really is. Like a wind chime tinkling the first warnings of the tsunami that is on its way, so we must prepare for the new "church."

And finally, the last shift was personal. After our Sunday morning get together my eldest grandson and I drove to Panera for an early lunch. We were meeting all the rest of the folks in the other car. We talked about this and that..wherever the 7-year-old mind wandered. When we arrived, I scooped him up and slung him over my shoulder and headed toward the restaurant. Over my shoulder I heard him say, "Grandaddy, put me down, this is embarrassing." If words can strike deeper into your heart I'm not sure how. It was one of those moments that is at once sad, and proud. He was saying that this action, while fun and acceptable in the past, no longer fit into his image of himself. He had outgrown it. Internally I wanted to sit and reflect on the moment, to realize the significance of this moment. He was saying that he was not a little boy anymore, but someone who had a self-image that was more mature than I realized. So I had to readjust my mental image of him. I have to respect his image of himself and not my image of him. I'm proud of him and his parents, and I'm sad that this journey moved us to a different, more mature level.

Of course I still have a granddaughter, and two more grandsons who still like to ride on my shoulders and be swooped up into my arms. God is good, all the time. I'm hoping by the time the last one (whomever that might be) decides that this is embarrassing, my back and legs won't take the stress anyway. Years from now.

Godspeed, the shape of the journey is changing as we trudge along. Keep your eyes up and watch your step.
Don

Here, There, and Everywhere

2010-09-14T07:08:00.002-05:00

There are several things that I simply do not understand about this entire "God-thing". It isn't that I am particularly slow, or hard-headed (my bride might argue the point) but it is that I can't seem to get my head around certain ideas. For instance, this "trinity" thing. God is all three? Yet separate? With different roles? Scripture doesn't clear it up much either..God, Son, Spirit all one, yet not all one? It makes my head tired.

While at the weekly assembly a couple of weeks ago, I was asked why I was not at a particular event. I responded that I was performing a wedding at the time of the event, that God was present and all was good. The guy I was talking to said he felt that God was at their event as well...which made my head start ginning out this weird sort of thought string. Was He there? Here? Everywhere?

My mind went to Genesis 3, God came looking for his fractious children, it says he was "walking" in the garden. Okay, located by walking around. At that moment we all know where He was..in the garden..looking for his people. Other scriptures "locate" Him at various times and places. But how does that work? Is the rest of creation being ignored while he traipses around with the most troublesome of his creatures? Is He everywhere at once? So we, each, never get His full attention, but some fraction of it, is that now enough to handle our problems?

Is He nowhere? Has he set this thing adrift with us on it? Is He off spinning up another creation because this one is too much trouble? Which makes me wonder if heaven will only be earthlings...hmm, and we worried about Baptists being there..I can see us getting in and there is a creature that looks like an asparagus stalk named Zortog, great stalk of faith from the planet/star/dimension of Ug. He/she/it sees God as an "octite" (8 beings in one.)

Our ego-centrism sort of demands that He be watching us every moment. I wonder if this is true? This past six months of unencumbrance of employment has taught me that the world keeps spinning without me. Everyone I know has moved on, they are working, they have plans, and if I keep bringing up my need for work (center of my attention right now) they will find a way to not include me in their world. But we sort of demand that God have a deep and personal attachment to my circumstances. Does it work that way? I'm not sure. I feel a great affinity to Peter in John 6, Jesus asks if they are ready to bail out of this entire ministry thing as well.. Peter says, "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of life.."

So I don't get it. I may never get it. But where else do I go? Maybe God is in every situation where there is someone who believes He is there. Another head scratcher.

Godspeed, this journey is full of questions for those of us who choose to wonder.
Don

Old Wounds

2010-09-09T07:21:00.002-05:00

In my in-between time in the career journey I decided to straighten up and organize all our papers/bills/tax returns/business papers, etc. and clear out what I could. As I sorted and tossed, it is impossible not to read through the material looking for worth. I work better when I can see everything. So the explosion of paper all over the upstairs was quite impressive.

While working my way through this I came upon all the lesson plans and process development and communication while with the church 4 years ago. The study material and the nice notes were all going into a stack and the calendars and meeting notes were going into the trash. In the midst of all this I came across the final communiques from the leadership and their stern and unbending response to my being there. I would like to say that the anger returned slowly, built to a point, then subsided. Sadly, it mushroomed in my head and heart like all of this had happened yesterday. It seems that I have not progressed much in the past few years. The leadership treated us poorly, subjected both me and my bride to unwarranted grief, and tossed us aside like so much rubbish.

This discovery tempered the rest of my day. It left me angry, morose, and disappointed in myself. To let them have that sort of control over me made the anger even harder to deal with. I spent a few minutes last night with my closest friend and spiritual advisor and he helped me work through it, but it reminded me that the things that make me who I am also create some of the deepest concerns about myself.

I prize loyalty over all else. I give it too easily, and am deeply wounded when it is violated. The leadership team chose to be critics instead of advocates. They did not have the hearts of shepherds, but of controllers. There were/are people still at that located church that we feel close to, people who proved in the subsequent years that they cared more for us, than the job I did. We have not heard from any of the leaders, not one. You would think that they would have a concern for someone that they felt had been led there by the Spirit. They had no loyalty to me or the ministry that I had sacrificed to achieve. You see, loyalty is only expected to be a one-way street, controllers feel no compulsion to reciprocate.

The other thing that really opened the wound again was the knowledge that I was the only one who still cared about this. These leader/controllers have long since forgotten how they treated us. So in some sense they still win. The positive out of all this was the clearly exhibited nature of church leadership as we know it today. This is why I am so adamant about being excluded from the "organizational" church, it is the church that hurts people, and hurts them deeply. It has changed my entire view of what the church is and what it should be doing.

I wonder how many men and families have suffered this same fate? I know of a few, but there has to be thousands over the past few years. Men who are having to find their ministry out of the context of "organizational" church. Men who are having to redefine what it means to be a minister, a missionary. Perhaps we all have to redefine what it means in a culture that has rejected Christianity as a world-view.

The anger has subsided. The cleaning process continues today. The purposes of God continue. The wound is scabbed over a little, hopefully forever. These leader/controllers are simply not worth this amount of angst.

These anger events leave me tired.

Godspeed, never mind my grumbling/mumbling, I'll stop in a little while.

Don

Going Purple

2010-09-08T07:06:00.003-05:00

During this temporary break in my career, I decided to do some things that I don't normally have time to do. One of the things that I thought would be fun would be to spend some time in a vineyard and participate in some aspect of a winery besides tasting and buying. I have that part down cold.

So last Thursday after an email invite to come and help them harvest their grapes, I decided to try my hand at it. Having been raised on a farm and harvesting hay, squash, okra (least favorite) watermelon, sorghum, the list goes on and on, this seemed like it might be nice. You know, get back to the land, do something green, participate in something that is referenced all over the old book with illustrations and miracles and advice. Thursday morning very early I loaded up in my little Ranger and drove almost two hours to the winery.

I arrived at 6:45AM..first one there. It was cool and rainy, and a lovely morning. We were supposed to caravan to another vineyard and help them, but it was decided that we would stay at this winery and harvest their merlot grapes. There is no way to tell what sort of crowd they expected, but at 7:30AM their was a grand total of 4..hmm. Not a big crowd. After some donuts and coffee, a brief lesson in how to harvest the grapes with little handheld shears (without lopping off your fingers) all of which was made easy by the simple rule that we would harvest all the grapes..leave nothing on the vine. We worked in pairs, one on each side of the vine, and clipped our way down one row after another.

The vines were still leafed out, so you had to move them around to find all the bunches. Merlot grapes grow on the vine from shoulder height to about knee height. So you spend the entire time working your way from a squat to standing, bending over for the ones in the middle. You fill a flat, rectangular pan up to a certain level (at the level they indicated the pan would weight about 40 lbs when full) leave that pan when full where it is, get an empty one and start over. I started out with a lady who was handling the vines and the grapes like they were made of glass. The vineyard manager walked by, watched for a moment and told us to not be too careful with the vines or the grapes. The next step for the vines is pruning, the grapes are going to be run through a de-stemmer, then crushed. No need to handle these with kid gloves. Our pace picked up considerably after that, which was probably the manager's intent.

Knees, back, shoulders, and hands all get a pretty good workout after 3 or 4 hours of this. When I got home I realized that my hands were scuffed up in the process, little dings and nicks that I hadn't noticed when harvesting the grapes. At one point I was working across from the vineyard manager and learned more about grapes than I thought possible. She was about 30, a talker, and much more limber than I. Apparently I lucked out picking merlot grapes, cabernet grapes are smaller and grow close to the ground..who knew?
The compensation for this effort was lunch from Chicken Express, all the sparkling wine I could drink, and a bottle of my choice. When we finished I noticed we had ended up with about 12 people. I was going to mention that most of these folks only worked about half as long as I did and they get the same compensation..then I remembered Matthew 20, this may be the first time I have regretted my Masters in Religion..too much knowledge.

One thing I did notice was that I was way under-tattooed compared to my coworkers. All of them had at least one and most had a nice collection. The guy dumping the grapes into the de-stemmer had a big tattoo of a naked woman with a cowboy hat, riding an over sized revolver, waving a Texas flag, on his bicep..which was right at eye level for me. Every time I handed him another pan to dump in, I got a close up view of the tattoo, and we must have had 200 pans or more. He was with his wife/girlfriend/significant other and I kept tyring to get comparative glances from the tattoo to the real life woman. No conclusion. The real life woman didn't look like she would inspire the same dimensions as on the tattoo. Artistic liberties?

After lunch I picked out my wine (a Tempranillo, spanish varietal, a nice deep red) stretched my back one last time and headed home. Reflecting on the turn of events that allowed me to do something as old as scripture, yet new to me. Wine is expensive because it is labor intensive, almost all of it has to be done by hand by people who seem to really enjoy it. I had a good time.

Anyway, Godspeed to all out there who enjoy the vino. The next time you hoist a glass, hold it up to light and look at the color and remember that some slub like me dinged up his hands to pick the grapes, some tattooed guy hoisted them up to get the stems out, someone else pressed them, and all along a winery manager was checking and tasting and keeping an eye on it all.

Don

Re-Orientation

2010-09-03T07:12:00.002-05:00

If you are looking for something funny or enlightening or thought-provoking..let me suggest you go someone else's blog. I am going to take few minutes and feel sorry for myself. This is a job we all have to do for ourselves. No one will do it for us.

The past six months have been a study in anticipation followed by terrible disappointment which creates frustration which turns into anger which slowly dissolves into self-doubt.
For six months I have been trying to find the next step (I would like for it to be the last step) in my career. A constant has been the hope that I would work with people of integrity, and people I enjoy. Who knows if this will happen. We almost had deals done only to have investors disappear, money disappear, hope taking a beating. I turned down a couple of job opportunities because I knew the character of the people making the offer and knew that eventually the lack of integrity would attach to me. So I risked the short-term monetary reward on a moral decision. I have put myself and my bride's future at risk to cling to a version of my own integrity. Was it a good decision? I don't know. We have lasted six months because we believe that the merits of spiritual disciplines, particularly frugal living, have garnered us some time. But now the money is running out and very little is appearing on the horizon.

I have discovered some things:
1. I like to work. This has taught me that retirement is not something that I intend to work towards. I like the challenge; mental, physical, emotional of making things happen. It is probably part of my makeup that has driven me forward as long as I can remember.
2. That as a man, this constant rejection is hard to take. It also makes one paranoid. Every non-returned call, email not responded to, delay of decision becomes a statement about my worth. When I am working and being productive it is easy to forgive these slights because I understand the pace of play. But when I am waiting on this end, it is a comment on my worth to society. Then all this bleeds over into all other areas of life, friends and kids and wife all begin to look like they would rather not "return the call" Their lives move on, money is made, decisions are made, the world swirls on, leaving you wondering what happened. The only other one who can't move on is your bride, she is stuck in the same void. So you end up hurting the one you care most about..which does another number on your self-esteem. If I could figure out how to move her out of the line of fire I would do so in a heartbeat. But I have learned that we do not live out our lives in a vacuum, it is lived in the context of others.
3. It is an odd time for a lot of people who are having to "start over" and consider options that only 6 months ago were off the table. Now instead of being the VP of Sales, I need to consider a position that used to fall under my management. The world is reorganizing itself and some us with it. I am not too proud to do this work, it is just that it a step further back than I anticipated. I had a mentor when I was a young man named Charles Pervier. He told me he would do whatever was required as long as he could handle it physically. He said he was not too proud to dig ditches, if his 60-year-old back could hold up. This guy was pretty high up at AT&T. I have taken his words to heart.
4. You have to keep your life as normal as you can. Still go out and see friends, order water instead of wine, split the meal with your bride, let her pick and eat whatever she wants, keep working out, keep your spiritual disciplines in line, try to find ways to help people around you, stay focused on the joys of the moment. This is hard, my bride asked me yesterday if a particular time away helped me forget the frustration of the job search. In a way, yes, but in a very real sense it is never out of my mind, because it has such huge implications for us.

Well we are almost at the end of the pity party. It is time to strap on my pack and get moving again. The best description of me in most tough situations is "dumb and durable" This is simply one of those times when it is best to keep doing what I know will work, take the next step, pack and stow my pride, keep moving.

Godspeed out there. Those who are in the same situation I am should understand that it is not the best and brightest that are still working..but the luckiest.
Don

A Sort of Good Idea

2010-08-24T09:21:00.003-05:00

Yesterday was one of those days where you wonder what is going on inside your head.

Here's want I mean. My little Ranger had the transmission rebuilt about 3 weeks ago, along with the cooling system and the timing chain. All was good for the three weeks then the "O/D OFF" signal kept coming on and the transmission would slam into each gear. Not what you really want in an old rebuilt truck. It got especially annoying while running to the store. So I decided to take the truck back in to the shop.

My bride is back in the groove at work, it was her first day, she didn't need me calling and trying to work this out. I'm a pretty resourceful guy, so what do I have at hand that I can use to get this truck to the shop and me home. Hiding in the garage is a bicycle that my bride had bought not long ago. So it seems to me that I could toss the bike in the back of the Ranger, take my Ranger to the shop, and cycle home. I see folks riding around all the time in our corner of the world. How hard could it be?

So I aired up the tires (by the way, how much psi is there in bicycle tires? Apparently 30lbs is too little) loaded the bike in the back of the truck and headed out. At the shop they were assured that it was a minor adjustment and wanted to know if I could leave the truck.
"No problem, I brought my bike and will just cycle home."
A look of amazement mixed with skepticism.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely!" I love surprising folks.
"Well, be careful there are some nutty drivers out there."

So I hopped on the bike only to have the pedals go spinning without providing any forward traction. Hmm. This is interesting, I'm going to have to learn this whole "gear" thing while heading down the road. When I was a kid the "gears" were simply a matter of how fast and hard you could pedal. I didn't have these problems with my old stingray with the banana seat. Steering and balance are no problem, but as I look at the front tire it looks really flat...I needed more than 30lbs pressure.

Here are some observations about riding a bike on the access road to a major freeway.
The sign on the back of gravel trucks is wrong. It says "Stay Back 200 feet. Not responsible for broken windshields." Okay, the truck is responsible for broken windshields, the gravel doesn't just jump from the side of the road on its own and crack the windshield. It falls off the truck and bounces about head-high to a bicyclist, or a windshield. The sign should read, "Stay back 200 feet. We will not take responsibility for broken windshields"
Second observation: there are a lot more hills between my house and the shop than I would have guessed. And apparently my house is a lot higher elevation than the shop. Who knew?
Thirdly, yesterday was the hottest day since summer of 2008. 107 degrees. I didn't decide until after lunch to go. So in my cargo shorts, tee-shirt, and golf hat I managed to get a pretty good work out in the 3.7 miles from the shop to my house. Legs were fine..air intake a problem.

Finally, cars and trucks are mentally set up to cut as close to a cyclist as they can get without actually scratching up their vehicle. I tried not to think how far into the pasture I would be boosted if those nuts blasting off the highway onto the access road had misjudged their distance from me. But they all blew on by and missed me by at 6 inches or so.

So the truck is being fine-tuned. I survived the cycling adventure. The temperature today is only supposed to be 99 or so.

Godspeed out there. Isn't it nice to know that 40 years have not diluted my ability to make the same decisions that came so easily to me as a teenager?
Don

Wedding Day

2010-08-18T07:12:00.002-05:00

This past Saturday I "officiated" a wedding here in Texas..outside. Okay, it was supposed to be at 10AM (which became 10:20AM) and was in the cool part of the day. The evening before we ran through the rehearsal and were assured that the big pecan tree would provide shade for one and all. I looked up at this old giant of a tree and felt somewhat assured that the ceremony would at least be tolerable.

The rehearsal was almost normal, but the bride's family are all actors and singers. Let me just say that they have both a different standard and a higher tolerance for the practicing of the event. We ran through it three times and were going for a fourth time with soundtrack, but the sound tech couldn't get everything working and the 100 degree heat was taking a toll. And the BBQ was getting cold.

Day of wedding, I'm there early in my long-sleeve shirt and tie. The mother of the bride is flying around trying to get things done, my sweet wife and our friends are trying to help, doing whatever needs to be done. The father of the bride is greeting guests, running around getting whatever needs to be done. As the officiant I am sitting stoked up on pain killers because of my back and patiently waiting for 10AM.
At 9:40 I take my place on the front row..and waited..and waited..and waited. Finally the groom takes his place at the front and we watch as the mothers of the bride and groom are seated. Then the groom and I take our places and realize only in that moment that the only sunlight getting through that big, old pecan tree is a shaft of light directly on the groom and I. As the attendants took their places, all were in the shade. The bride made her entrance took her place..in the shade. The temp had now soared well over 95 and the groom and I slowly cooked. In that 30 minute ceremony I paid for all the sins of igniting fire ants on the sidewalk with a magnifying glass as a kid. The sweat ran down out of my hair, past my glasses, onto the my notes. The groom was having the same problem. I thought about telling him if he can't stand the heat..etc. Seemed like the wrong time.

They were married in fine fashion. My bride and I accepted the invitation to spend the rest of the day in our friend's swimming pool. Had some great peasant pasta that evening and crashed as soon as we got home.

So why do we place such pressure on the event of a wedding? Every time I perform a ceremony there is a little trepidation. There is simply no way to tell the couple how hard/unexpected/fun/trying/fulfilling/frightening this entire marriage deal is. They wander into it thinking theirs will be the one that will fall into the health/wealth/goodtimes side only. It isn't until later that they usually get a lot of sickness/poor/hardtimes that test their core. Part of the ceremony speech was trying to convey that love will not save their marriage..commitment will be the only thing that will save them. Most folks don't agree with me, but I am telling you love comes and goes, is good and is absent. If you do not have the mindset that you will dig your heels in and fight, then you will not make the entire journey together. I am filled with trepidation because I feel a responsibility to them. I want them make it. I want them to have some sense of what it means to live faithfully with one other person for 10 years and 20 and 30 and 40, until only the inevitable end in death can pull your hands and hearts apart.

Will they make it? I don't know, it depends on how tough they are. I have put words in their ears, I hope those words sink down to their hearts.

Godspeed, if you have traveled this road for years with another, hug them, it is rare these days.
Don

What's The Point

2010-08-05T07:35:00.003-05:00

My daughter left a book at our house over the past few weeks and I have picking it up, reading a few chapters, putting it down, picking it up again. I'm almost through with the book now and she would like it back. She had asked if I had read and she seemed surprised when I said no. I will say that the book articulates in general what I feel about the religious world in America today.
There are a lot good points made in the book, but one quote in particular sums up what I think strikes at the problem:
Here is the quote,
" We must realize that slight tweaks, new music, creative lighting, wearing hula shirts, shorts, and flip-flops won't make doing church more attractive. Church must not be the goal of the gospel anymore. Church should not be the focus of our efforts or the banner we hold up to explain what we are about. Church should be what ends up happening as a natural response to people wanting to follow us, be with us, and be like us as we are following the way of Christ." The Tangible Kingdom: Creating Incarnational Community by Hugh Halter and Matt Smay.

Church as we know it is losing ground. And it is not just the young adults who are walking away. My bride and I meet contemporaries all the time who have decided to take a time out from activity of church. The senior middle-aged are not tired of church, we desire spiritual community more than ever before. I would guess my group is more involved in random bible studies, prayer groups, spiritual disciplines than almost anyone, but we are finding the outlets in non-traditional settings. Why?
Because the "organizational church" has squelched the "organic church" almost to extinction. Reflecting on the pain we and others have suffered over the past decade, it is always the organization that has inflicted the pain. The organization fires the ministers, revamps the programs, silences the dissenting voices, and looks to sustain itself at the expense of community members. The organization is a terrible monster to feed, but it has outgrown the intent of the faith community. As such, it is being rejected by young and not-so-young.

We are probably pretty good examples. We "attend" church regularly, but we garner our spiritual nourishment from a variety of places. We have lost the zeal to "do church" as we used to. Instead, we meet with our smaller group as often as we can. We share life with them, travel, heartache, kid concerns, job upheaval, struggles and joys. We watch around us for those who need help and manifest our ministry through random acts of kindness. We develop friends, then as we get to know them we all share with each other our spiritual journey, without condemnation, without religious superiority, without "church" We don't find ourselves asking for prayers from the organized church, we feel they are no closer to God than we are. We do find ourselves being ministered to by the those who care for us and vice versa. Spiritual walk for us is more around us, than trying to bring people to a certain place or understanding. It is more next door, than next Sunday.

I suspect this attitude is driving the church leaders nuts. It can't be helped. What should really worry them is the defection of the Boomer crowd, not the "roaring Twenties" This deceleration is going to be faster than they suspect. I feel sorry for the organizations that hold big mortgages, the money isn't going to be there. God rewards ministry, not mortgages.

Anyway, Godspeed out there. If you want a warm and open spiritual conversation, help with a problem, or a prayer, you are welcome, we have no intent to take away your history or your money.
Don

A Better Me

2010-08-02T09:15:00.002-05:00

Just a few days ago I was reading an article and the author was reminiscing about her life and at the ripe old age of 39 she decided that she really liked her life. For a moment I stopped and reread the sentence, folded the article shut and leaned back and took inventory. Do I like my life?

First I ran through all the blessings that I thoroughly enjoy, my bride, my kids, my kids-in-laws, my grandkids. I like what I do for a living (although I would like to get back at it) I am settled spiritually, I am at peace with my world.

Secondly, I wondered if this were true of most folks? Does everyone hit this stage in life and find that, by and large, it has turned out better than we had dreamed of in our early days? I don't know. I find people who hit my age and are bitter and angry, stressed and spiteful. It seems that they can't seem to find a moment of quiet likability in their lives. So I wondered what everyone on the plane with me would say..

It occurred to me as well that we only get a chance to live our lives, not someone else's. We have a dear friend that I joke with and tell her it must be an adventure living inside her head. She comes up with the funniest stuff, and I cannot for life of me figure out how she got there. Of course they all give me a hard time about all the voices in my head, but by and large all the voices in my head all agree, or at least get along.

I think, though, there is part of us that will not let us settle. I don't know if it is the pounding we have taken over the years in church about what worthless sinners we are, or if it is a need to constantly look ahead. There was a guy that was raised in West Texas who said all he remembered from church growing up was, "Jesus loves you and you are going to hell." This tends to make us a little gun shy about feeling good about who we are. There is also the issue of always trying to peek over the next hill. I know that I have spent a great deal of my time living for the next stage and not really being "present" in this one. Finally at my age, I can stop and talk to my 7-year-old grandson and not be antsy that the adults are up to something significant. It is easy to waste time with that boy and feel that it was absolutely the best way to expend that portion of my life quotient.

Do I like my life? Yes, a quiet yes. It is better than I imagined it would be. The coming years are only bonus for what I have already received.

Godspeed out there, take a moment, enjoy the only life you were given.
Don

The Happiest Place on Earth

2010-07-23T12:21:00.003-05:00

Earlier this week I spent Monday and Tuesday night at a motel (not a hotel, but a motel with parking right in front of your door, which is a big deal if you have car) at he very entrance to Disneyland...in Anaheim. I'm not sure what level of mischief this should tell me about the guys I was interviewing with. This motel was built sometime in the 60's, was apparently bought by Best Western, and is living out it's existence as a home base for Disneyland pilgrims.

When I checked in, they assigned a room..109. When I tried the door, the key would not work. So I pulled my suitcase and backpack back to the lobby and told them the key was not working.
"Oh yes, 109, we can't seem to get it fixed. We will give you 209." They were disappointed that I did not exhibit the appreciation that was warranted by this decision.

So I thumped my suitcase up a flight of stairs, entered the room and was hit by a heatwave. After the last guest they decided to save a few coins and not turn on the air conditioner. So after several futile moments looking for the wall thermostat, I looked up and spied a window unit..stuck high in the wall above the microwave/vanity/coffee service. Okay, interesting, haven't used a window unit in a while. Turned the beast on and it sounded like a cat being forced through a meat grinder. I tried a slower speed..smaller cat. So I called the front desk,
"Hi, this is Don in room 209, would you send up the maintenance guy, this air conditioner sounds like an airplane taking off."
"No problem, just few minutes."

In 10 minutes the maintenance guy showed up, fiddled with the controls and turned to me and said, "No good." No kidding Sherlock. "We go find another room." He calls the front desk, has a non-English conversation for a few minutes, then motions me to follow him. So I thumped my suitcase back down the stairs back to room, yes, 109. He waited for the guy to bring him a key. I mentioned that this room was a problem, the keys don't work. He gave me that sly, smug, s***-eating grin and worked the key into the slot, pulled the door towards himself then shoved inward. Worked like a charm. He needs to inform the front desk about the code, but apparently this was a territorial battle that my conflict management skills weren't going to solve.

Got into the room, turned on the window unit and it sounded like someone mincing mice. I can live with this, maybe my snoring would muffle the A/C sound. Walked to dinner, had a nice little meal, walked back, dead on my feet, long day. Turned in around 9PM and just as I was dozing off heard what sounded like a small child being dumped out of a bed upstairs. You have got to be kidding me. Who brings their kids to Disneyland to slam them around in a hotel room? I got up, pulled on my slacks, shouldered my way into my sport shirt, opened the door and realized that the sounds were the fireworks display for Disneyland. Lots of folks on the catwalks oohing and ahhing over the fireworks. You have got to be kidding me. Good grief, I'm going to bed.

Next morning, up at 4AM, worked for a bit, then headed for the fitness center. 6AM on the nose..key wouldn't work, deep sigh, walked to the lobby. The security guy has to unlock, called him, 20 minutes later the door was open. I have no idea how long that fitness has been there, but it was pristine. The machines were brand new, it didn't even smell like a fitness center. I wondered if I was the first guy to use it.
On the way back to the room, I decided to detour through the breakfast area..mistake. It was like viewing feeding time at the day-care center. Cereal and milk flying everywhere, guys looking at the kids like they were trying to figure out what species they were, and how did they end up here. I was the only one in there with long pants. Sorry, I can't do this. I need a nice quiet cup of coffee, a well-toasted bagel, and a news paper. This was noisy and chaotic and messy, I'm out.

During the day I was reporting all this to my bride and she exclaimed in a very exasperated tone, "But you are at the Happiest Place On Earth! Go to Downtown Disney!"

So that evening I went to Downtown Disney, settled at small corner table at a restaurant and watched the fireworks display. While it did little to change my opinion about the "happiest" at least the fireworks were pretty, the people-watching was above standard, and it made me happy that I was going home the next day. The happiest place on earth for me is with my bride, not in the midst of the most frenetic, family violence inducing place in north America.

I have decided that business and vacation do not mix. When I travel with family I am good with noise and confusion and chaos. When I travel on business I like efficiency, quiet, and order. The happiest place for me is airline connections on time, customers that are reasonable, and good coffee. Goofy, and Mickey need to stay the heck away from me.

Oh, and the motel Internet service didn't work..great.

Godspeed, when I got home I was asked, once again, just how old was I?
Don

I'm Back

2010-07-14T07:05:00.003-05:00

What a week it was last week. Our oldest daughter and her two kids came to visit. Our youngest and her 9-month-old were here to mix in and our son's newest arrival was visited as he completed his second week in the family. We water-parked, ate, zooed, ate, swam, ate, napped, ate, and we had some really good meals. I fixed breakfast most mornings, we "sandwiched" for lunch most days, and had some really fine shrimp and pasta, peasant pasta, leftover pasta..my eldest really likes pasta.

But here is my favorite part. At one time or another I had good alone time with each grandkid. Each is in a different stage and brings out different feelings wrapped around different activities.

Eli is just fun to be around. He is not a little boy anymore. He is action and movement. We love to play golf together. He brought his sticks and even though it was rainy all week, we managed to get in one good afternoon at the local middle school and play a 9-hole, par-3 course in north Dallas. We do not keep score. It isn't that he can't hit the green on his tee shot, he does. In fact, we have a little side game where if he hits the green on his tee shot I give him a dollar. It usually costs me about $2 per 9 holes. But he insists on putting out...11 strokes later. I'm not sure I would have the patience for that at a younger age. But at this age, we just laugh about all the strokes and I praise him to high heaven for the shots getting there. But he loves carrying his clubs, and cleaning the club after every shot, EVERY SHOT. It slows the game just a little. His mind begins to wander after 7 or 8 holes, so 9 holes is perfect. I have found that everything is negotiated. He has developed a little habit of wanting to hit additional shots off the tee, to "see if he can get it on the green" then we have a negotiating conference all the way to the green regarding whether the second shot counted (he says it does, I say it doesn't) I usually negotiate him down from a $1 to a Sonic drink..which then turns into a negotiation about whether it is soft drink or a chocolate milk shake. He never realizes that my job, my career is negotiating, he has no chance, none, I've been trained and tested in the business world...until he says, "Please Grandaddy" Sigh. I lose every time.

Phoebe is the dancer, the singer, a mop of curls and grins, and a little spitfire personality. But here is where this old grandaddy's heart gets captured every time. When she wakes up from sleeping, nap or night, it makes no difference. She may be the most tender, warmest human being on earth. She comes in with those reddish curls all atangle, blanket in tow and climbs up in my lap and snuggles in close. The world goes away. It is our cocoon of love and safety and heart bonding. I cannot get enough of it. She will watch from our sanctuary as the day livens up and for a few short moments is content to sit with her grandaddy. It will break my heart when she decides she is too old for this moment.

Our 9-month-old Lincoln has turned from what I thought was a serious little NICU baby into quite a charmer. He has the most infectious smile I have ever seen. Occasionally I look around a room of adults all trapped in exercise of trying to get him to smile. It is not hard, it is simply addictive. His favorite joke is my daughter trying to get him to ask for "more" ( fingers made into a cone, then touching the tips of the fingers on the opposing hands together) He laughs, which makes all of us laugh, then bangs the highchair tray with the flat of his hand. His daddy thinks it is hilarious, we all laugh, his momma gets that funny laugh that means she is trying to teach him something and finds the rest of us no help at all. I'm telling you that boy is going to be a handful when he gets older.

The new addition we don't know quite as well yet. But there is something about holding him while he sleeps that tends to bond us. I love watching him, wondering who he will trun out to be. He is creating a bit of angst with his non-feeding habits, and wearing his parents out with his lack of schedule, but he is loved by all, prayed over by all, and will figure it out. My son and I have had several conversations about how to adapt to all this. The most prevalent parenting philosophy is "trial and error" more error right now than anything else. What I have gently tried to convey is the slate gets wiped clean with the second one and most of the knowledge gets tossed because the second will be different. What you get to keep is the knowledge that it will work out. As parents we all live with the guilt of our ignorance. I can't wait to hold him again.

What does the future hold? I have no idea. If these are the only ones..I'm good. If there are more, I'm good. I can't wait to take Eli, Lincoln, Isaac to play golf. Of course, I will have to recruit their non-golfing daddies as wranglers. Then there is the three-fold negotiations..they won't all be as good at it as Eli will they?

Godspeed. This grandaddy is stunned that these blessings are so available. Who would'a thunk it?
Don

Quiet Time

2010-07-03T06:57:00.002-05:00

Saturday mornings may be the quietest moment in the week. No school buses on the street. No one headed for work. Dogs are let out late. Calm, quiet, still. It has become my favorite moment.

This morning I awoke at 5:45 and just listened to nothing. The only sounds were the house ticking and clicking, birds just beginning to stir, bride's soft breathing as she sleeps, and the thoughts tumbling around in my head. I used to hate these moments. For some reason they made me edgy, anxious about getting going.

Over the past several years, though, I have developed quite a love for them. I think the application of spiritual disciplines of silence and solitude have taught me that God's quiet voice is best heard when the rest of the world can be shut out for a moment. When asked by my bride or my kids what I'm doing in these moments, the best I can come up with is "thinking." But that really doesn't catch all the flavor of what is going on. I'm thinking, but I'm listening as well, introspecting (Is this a real word?) taking inventory, letting my mind settle for a moment.

I catch myself doing this in a lot of places. Driving gives me great time to sit and ponder the quirks of my world. My bride doesn't care much for it when she is in the car. Sitting in silence with no radio or conversation is not her idea of togetherness. So I have to remind myself that when with others I need to be aware of their comfort zones. My kids don't really get it either. So if everyone in the world around you doesn't enjoy it, it is best to realize they aren't the odd ones.

But this morning is great. So many things/events/ people to think about. New grandson, new opportunities in the career world, shifting spiritual insights are all floating around and giving me a real joy over the quiet time. My nature will not let this sit for long, but for this moment the journey is quiet and calm and restful.

Godspeed, take a moment, let God talk for a while, but He speaks softly.
Don

Mowing the Lawn

2010-07-01T06:59:00.002-05:00

This past Monday I mowed my son's yard. Not a big deal. In fact, the yard is pretty small compared to some that I have mowed in the past. This is not the norm. He takes good care of his own yard. But he and my D-i-L had our fourth grandchild on Saturday and had just brought the boy home. They were worn out, and needed as much rest as possible. Besides, I am next to useless when it comes to new babies, new moms, and new grandmoms. They use a different language from lactation coaches to transition to colostrum (sp.) No idea, nada. So what can I do to help? I KNOW how to mow a yard, I love to run errands, so I find things to do to help.

It was beginning to cloud up, so I got busy as quickly as I could. Halfway through mowing a very vivid memory jumped into my head. When this same son was born to me, we were living in Dallas, I was working for Westinghouse Credit. Those were the days when big corporations tended to pay very little. It was also the summer ('80) when we had 100+ days of 100 degrees. It was also that summer that I took on a number of yards to help make ends meet. Nearly every evening I would stop on the way home, mow a yard, pack up, then head to the house, $20-25 richer. I would also mow a couple of yards on Saturday. I was very tan, and in pretty good shape for a guy who analyzed data all day for the branch locations in the south/southwest. I was a little younger than my son is now.

So here is the memory. When Ben was born on June 4, I moved a couple of those yards aside to be in the delivery room. Back then we were called "coaches" which is a little of a misnomer. First of all, most coaches have played the game...not these coaches, we not only never played, we never even suited up..and never will. Secondly, the event was going to play out with us or without us. Telling your bride, who is going through incredible to pain and anxiety, to "breath" is a sure way to get into a conversation that you are not only going to lose, but likely will not survive. I have the distinct impression that the entire delivery staff is covertly rolling their eyes as we dad's try to coach. Really? They are huffing and puffing, straining and hurting, and the best we can come up with is...breath. "You breath, you sorry @#$%^&, you're the one that got me into this!!"
Anyhoo, the next day I had a couple of yards to catch up on, but I desperately wanted to be with my bride and our new son. My folks had come in to see their newest grandbaby, and I mentioned to my dad that I was feeling torn about where I needed to be. Back in those days my dad always traveled with his "work clothes" a set of coveralls. So he said he would help. We showed up at the first house and he mowed while I edged. My memory of him in those light green coveralls, cap on his head, marching along behind that mower at high speed is still a strong memory for me. We knocked out those yards in no time and were back in the hospital in only a couple of hours. Over the next few days he would install a window unit in our little rent house, fix a commode that wasn't flushing quite right, and yes, run numerous errands.

Remember that this guy was a doctor, an optometrist. I'm sure he never even considered that the folks whose yards he was mowing were at least equals in social standing. He didn't care about his standing or theirs, he cared about his son and his grandson. He simply wanted to help and did so in the way he knew best. They call me "little Grady" I think because we look similar. But some of it is our nature. I hope so. I stopped mowing for a moment and realized that my dad had taught me well. He never lectured, he never "expected" anything. He simply stepped in to help, with good humor, and a mild touch. The lessons we learn are more caught than taught, but they run deep in our souls and nature.

The words to the hits from my youth, " teach your children well" We all do, one way or the other.

Godspeed to all out there who are reaping the rewards of parenthood...grandkids.
Don

And Then There Were Four..

2010-06-28T07:11:00.002-05:00

This past Saturday at 5:57PM Mr. Isaac Jolly made his way into the world. Like all healthy babies he came into the world kicking and screaming. I haven't heard of many who come in calm and collected.

My son made the comment that he may be the most "prayed for" baby ever. I'm not sure of that. We have spent enormous amounts of time praying for Eli, and Miss Phoebe and the month in NICU by Lincoln tested all of us. But I will say that there may have been a lot more prayer getting Isaac "started." But whatever the debate, there is no debate that we are thrilled to see him here and healthy.

What we haven't been able to prepare my son and D-i-L for is the constant fatigue that now becomes a part of your life. It is almost like you can't remember what "rested" felt like. I told my M-i-L some 30-odd years ago that I think we get the same amount of sleep, it just happens at your desk, a stop light, in the shower, etc. All of sudden this charade that each adult controls their own destiny comes crumbling down. Now life is dictated by a 6lb/11oz, 18" bundle of squeaks, leaks, stained clothes. And he has no sense of the clock. For a time it all revolves around him. Rest, clean clothes, gaming, reading, movies, eating out..all take a back seat.

But the boy is precious. I got to see the wonder in my son's face as he cradled this new miracle in his arms. I could almost read his thoughts, the joy, the concern, the new responsibility is never as acute as it is at that moment of realization, "This boy is mine, to mold, care for, to protect, to grow." Stunning in the awareness, overwhelming in the immediacy. But he will learn that this little bitty boy is far tougher than any of us can imagine.

So we almost can field a basketball team, although genetics are against most of them.

Godspeed, the journey is crowding up nicely.
Don

A Tale of Two Journals

2010-06-24T07:12:00.002-05:00

For the past 7 or 8 years I have kept a journal. When I started I asked a friend how to keep a journal. He said he had kept one for years and didn't really know. He just encouraged me and warned me that it would be difficult at times. No kidding. So I started and wrote at least every week, if not every day. It is at times a travel journal, a vent against injustice, a lament, a joy. It is full of prayers and psalms. It is at times superficial, at times deeply personal. It is hand written, which allows for "slower" thinking. It is not shared.

But this blog tricked me into thinking that I was practicing the spiritual discipline of journaling, which it isn't. This blog is merely musing about the state of affairs around me. My personal journal is one where all the truth and joy and anguish get exposed. It shines the light into the dark corners and chases away the demons. It allows me to be honest about all things "Don" Good, bad, indifferent. In a way, it is a road map of my spiritual travels, an assessment of where I am spiritually, emotionally.

If you do not keep a journal, please start one. It will help you see the recurrent themes in your spiritual walk. It will be a great reminder of triumphs and heartbreak and struggle. You can write whatever you wish, you can explore the wounds of being a husband, father, son, faith member. You can write your own prayers, set in time and space, but ageless in their poignancy. Over time you can see the fingerprints of God on your life and remember that He is there..always. You can write things that you would never say out loud, you can pray things that would never be accepted or understood within a community of faith. You do not have to be a writer, just a follower of the better things in life.

Yes, I keep two journals. One for you, one for me. What will happen to it after I am dead and gone? Shrug. I don't know. I hope my bride and kids and their kids find some value there. I am hoping it will explain the parts of my personality that they never really understood. I hope it buys me some grace here on earth while I am learning about it first hand in the ultimate kingdom.

Godspeed, write it down..live it out.
Don

Let's Go Surfin' Now

2010-06-22T07:33:00.002-05:00

Now that the Beach Boys are roaming around in your head, let me tell you about our trip to the beach with my eldest daughter's family. It was full of fun, good foods, meltdowns, minor crisis, laughter, and snuggling. A great time.

Tuesday afternoon the Amarillo crew connected through Dallas on Southwest. My bride and I met them at the gate and flew with them to Corpus Christi connecting through Houston. Phoebe the 3-year-old was ecstatic to traveling in such a novel and adventurous way. When she is excited she talks, a lot, loud. She was so wound up that it took all the rest of us to keep up. Eli, being 7, was more mature about the entire deal. Of course he was pretty doped up from being kicked by a horse the previous day, thigh and face, he looked like he was on the wrong end of a rumble. Brad has all the electronic gadgets, so Eli spent most of the flight watching the old Karate Kid. Phoebe talked.

We landed around 6PM and everyone was starved. We wanted something quick, but good, and Jordan wanted a salad. Hmm. The final decision was a reluctant CiCis Pizza. Actually pretty good food. We chowed down, reloaded into the van and headed to Target for "beach toys" and HEB for groceries. By the time all that was done and the minor skirmishes with kids and planners were resolved, we drove the final 20 miles or so to the condo. Very nice. My bride (known as Nena to her grandkids) and I had the middle floor with the kitchen and living room, but we had our own room with our own bath. The kids were on the bottom floor, the parents on the third floor. We settled in and crashed after a very long day.

The next few days fell into a pattern. I would get coffee going, then, when it looked like we had a majority up and moving I would fix breakfast. Clean up, then off to the beach. The beach was only a couple hundred yards away, but it would have taken a pack mule to get all the stuff there, so we took the van. Morning at the beach, head to the condo for lunch and nap, then back to the beach for a couple of hours, then back to condo for dinner. Jordan and I love to cook together, so we would bustle around the kitchen, making suggestions to each other about the way to try something, bumping into each other, generally having a good time. The food, by the way, was phenomenal.

The first morning on the beach was an experience. Eli dove right in. Phoebe, not so much. I recall her screaming, "I HATE GETTING DIRTY!!" By the end of the second day, she was wading right in and having a blast. My guess is that she built about 300 sand structures, covered her dad in sand, and sat still long enough for Nena to craft a mermaid tail around her lower body and then pose for pictures.
I taught Eli how to body surf. It took a bit for him to get the hang of it, but he had such fun trying. He was also battling the waves. He would go out as far as he could go and pound them as they broke over him. Sometimes he would adopt the "crane" maneuver, sometimes he would simply pound away with his fists, sometimes he was just take the wave on chest deep and yell, "IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!?" It occurs to me that there was a lot of noise on this trip.
It also occurred to me that facing the waves is a life struggle we all have. We are pitiful in making the wave change course, or not knock us down, but there is something noble in the willingness to fight it anyway. No hope to win, but the fight gives us some resemblance of significance. Contemplatives rarely get a vacation.

Sand and sun, kids and fun. Memories stored away.

Godspeed to those out there who get the rare chance to be invited on your kids and grandkids vacation. What a treat.
Don

Father's Day

2010-06-21T11:17:00.002-05:00

As usual this is being done a day late. Lots of thoughts on this issue since I am the missing link in the generational continuum. I still have a dad who is living and doing well, I am a father of grown children, and I have a son and two son-in-laws who are raising my grandchildren. I am the only one in this continuum that can claim all of the above. So my perspective is 360 degrees.

As a tribute to my dad. He is a simple, funny, honest man. They are few and far between these days. He is not rude to anyone, he does not ignore people. He is not constantly jockeying for attention, he is quite at ease with letting people do their own thing. He is a man that I have tried (and largely failed) to emulate all my life. He has some of the most endearing and maddening habits, for example, I call once or twice a week. we talk about the weather, what wildlife he has seen at the farm, how everyone is feeling, and who has died. This last part is a little tricky. I haven't lived in Abilene for about 35 years. His circle of friends and associates has changed in that time. When he is headed for a funeral he tells me about it and nine out of ten times I have no idea who that person was. Then months later I find out that someone I DID know has died and he forgot to tell me.
He stays busy with projects, like meals-on-wheels. I am pretty sure most of the people he delivers to are younger than he is, but they are not as vital. He still makes me tired to try and keep up when we do "projects" at the farm. Kiwanis, Food Pantry, Forty-two group, and on and on. The man stays busy and happy. I hope I am the same way at 88.

As I turn and look the other direction down the "fatherhood" continuum, I see my son-in-laws who are doing a great job raising my grandkids. It is pure joy to watch them love on, correct, get frustrated by these little kids. I could lend advice, but why should I? They are bright, hard-working, caring men who will figure it out. My son stands on the threshold of fatherhood. We are betting whether it will happen this week or next, but soon...very soon. I hope he is more intentional than I was about this whole parenting thing.

Finally, I think the main thing all dads have in common is the sneaky feeling we are screwing it up somehow. We rely deeply on the moms to save the kids. We do the best we can, yet we wonder what issues we are creating for our kids down the road. You see we "mark" our children with our love, our insecurities, our failures, and our dreams. It is not until adulthood that they can reasonably expect to accept or reject what we have tried to teach them. The second most pressing impression that I have about raising my kids is one of regret, what I should have done, what I did, what I can't change. The greatest impression is one of overwhelming pride in the adults my children have become. Deep, honest pride, smothered in the realization that it was done in ignorance, bathed in prayer, and partnered with my bride who had far better instincts than I in the task at hand.

Father's Day. A mixed bag for sure.

Godspeed to those out there who enjoyed the rewards, wept over the mistakes, and carried on.
Don

I Tweaked My Back

2010-06-09T13:20:00.002-05:00

Yes, sports fans, the back "went out" as in "I threw my back out" Although there was no throwing. Apparently it is a common malady for guys my age. You would think that I would be ready for it. Every morning something feels like something is going out, knees, ankles, neck, you name it something always hurts. But I have never had much trouble with my lower back. I learned early that the better lesson is not lift-with-your-legs, but never to lift at all if possible. A lesson I ignored Saturday.

Friday was a great day. Church golf tournament, with me doing some of the coordination. Got everyone signed in, money collected, usual jokes about the bad golf about to be unleashed on the golf course. We had fun playing, not even close to winning. Prizes were awarded, hamburgers consumed, prayer circle at the end.

So Saturday was yard day. My bride went to Canton for First Monday, along with my youngest. I stayed home to mow, edge, weedeat, and replant some flowers into a big washtub. Mowing went great, weedeating was uneventful, edging always makes me think of my son. I use the edger I bought the year he was born..30 years ago. Like my truck, it doesn't owe me any money.

Then the replant. We had decided to put a layer of small rocks in the bottom of the flower pot, which come in 40 lb sacks. No problem hauling it out to the flowerbed. Got everything together, turned to pick up the rock sack and felt something in my lower back "pop." It was a the pop and the lock-down, think-this-over pain that got my attention. Never had this before, but it can't be good. Finished the job and sort of crab-walked back to the house.

Took a shower wincing at each bend and turn. Then got on the couch. You would think that would be the end of the story. But a good friend called and wanted to get in a late afternoon round of golf..both wives gone, 3 hours to kill. Sure! Why not?!
Let's just say this back thing tended to make my follow-through a little abbreviated. Or to put it another way, it hurt like mischief right at the end of the swing. So as the round progressed my body began to anticipate the pain at the end and just chose not to follow all the way through. I shot a smooth running 90, not good.

That evening we went to my youngest daughters house for my son's birthday. Evening went okay except that after dinner I stretched out on the floor. BIG mistake. Couldn't get up.
Sunday night we went to see "Wicked" at the Dallas Summer Musicals, my friends thought I was not impressed with the show. But it is hard to be appreciative with back spasms. Plus the 10-year-old girl occasionally kicking the back of my seat.Cool show, though. I would like to see it when the painometer is not red-lining.

Monday I had had enough. I broke down and called my chiropractor and he could see me that morning. These guys are interesting. Touch your toes, I assume he means without screaming loud enough to bother the room full of waiting patients. Now, turn left, turn right, touch your nose..oh wait, that's something else. I gave him my first opinion that it was muscular, not nerve. I'm sure he appreciated me offering my diagnosis, why spend all that time in school when some old coot can tell you what's wrong. He felt around and announced I had displaced, slightly, one of my vertebrae. So he adjusted my back. Here's how that fun works. Stretch out on your right side, bend the top leg over the straightened lower leg, turn your shoulders a quarter turn. Then he uses all his weight to try and snap you in half. Don't worry about the loud and pronounced snap in your spine. I love the encouragement to "relax" just before he twists you into a pretzel. Then turn over and do the same from the other side...not as much relaxation this time. A quick reassuring pat that the vertebrae is now where it belongs, but I will be sore for several more days. Then the "stim" treatment, which feels like bugs crawling under the skin and a cold pack.

I crept back to the truck and vowed that the d*** plants could replant themselves in the future.

Of course I have gotten a little sympathy from my bride, although the "Will you get a glass of water" routine is already running thin.

Godspeed out there. Here is my take...more golf, less yard work.
Don

Is It Just My Imagination?

2010-05-27T07:13:00.002-05:00

For those who follow this blog, I have mentioned my 2000 Ford Ranger several times. It was the truck that threw itself in front of a charging deer in W. Texas. It is my forced exercise in maintaining a hold on frugality. We are old work partners. This truck has survived a daughter's stint in college. It is just an old truck that is wearing out.
Here is the list:
1. The transmission is going out. When it gets hot, apparently it is stuck in 3rd gear, which means the acceleration is just about equal to mine when I get up in the morning. It (and I) can get to cruising speed, it just takes a little while. This is a little worrisome in Dallas traffic. The Lexus/Camry/BMW crowd blast past with looks of annoyance, while me and my little red truck are trying to make a turn...in 3rd gear.
2. It leaks. Whenever it rains the passenger side floorboard becomes an in-door swimming pool. Now if I let it sit for a day, it becomes a swamp, then a cesspool. I try to get it dry before then.
3. The armrest/console lid is broken. More specifically the latch is broken. So for a couple of days I rode around with it open, then used a large rubber band to sort of close it, then found a perfectly sized strap with a large snap closure. So really this one is fixed and it has that nice black-strap-grey-interior contrast thing going.
4. It has 226,000 miles on the odometer. I bought it when it had 25,000 miles. As a friend of mine said, "it doesn't owe you any money" It has been one durable little truck.
5. The interior dome light got to where it would not turn off..which would run down the battery..which would make me cuss. So I fixed it in my own way..I pulled out the bulb. No interior lights makes for an interesting evening when you are looking for something in the floorboard at night. Cell phone displays are nearly bright enough to do the trick. Of course my bride has this fancy new I-phone with a flashlight app. That really works great.
6. The "clicker" only works on the driver's side to "unlock" It does not work on the passenger side at all. It will not lock the truck. I have taken to leaving it unlocked hoping some punk will steal the thing and save me the turmoil of having to get rid of it. No such luck. Apparently today's punks have higher standards than my little truck.
7. The front air spoil hangs a little low due to a front-end bump I had during an ice storm in Dallas, really just a little kiss to the truck in front of me. But it hangs down a little like a perpetual frown.

So for the past few months I have been looking at other cars. My bride is encouraging me to consider hybrids. I made the mistake of requesting an on-line quote from Ford (Fusion) and Honda (Accord) and Toyota (Prius) and Hyundai (Sonata). BIG MISTAKE. Apparently these folks have nothing else to do but annoy me with follow-up emails. Hyundai does not introduce their Sonata Hybrid until later in 2010, so I'm using that as an excuse to put all the others off.

Now all of a sudden my little truck is running a little better. Someone put the dome light bulb back in and the thing works and hasn't run the battery down. Its a little dim, but better than my blackberry. It still leaks, but it is summer in Dallas, unless I park next to a sprinkler I don't have to worry about it. Do you think the old girl perceives that she about to be replaced? Is it just my imagination that she is trying to keep her spot in the driveway? She probably has heard from the other cars in the parking lots that the next destination is Mexico. All of a sudden this old red Ford Ranger is trying to clean up her act. Could it be?

Naw. This is just my imagination. Isn't it?

Godspeed to all out there who anthromorphize their stuff. Someday all our stuff may turn on us. All new car conversations now happen in the house.
Don

Building Trust

2010-05-25T06:57:00.003-05:00

I am pushing through a book called Integrity: The Courage to Meet the Demands of Reality, by Dr. Henry Cloud. It has a description that says, " how six essential qualities determine your success in business." As a book it is not particularly enlightening, but it is one of the first attempts I have seen where biblical principles (he does not use that term) are applied in the business world. I am more accustomed to the business world influencing our spiritual walk, but that is another matter.

Chapter 5 is "Building Trust Through Extending Favor" It is a chapter on, want to guess? Grace. Huh? But this little chapter gives a pretty good working definition of the term. "Grace is when we extend "favor" to someone, not because they have earned it in some way, but because we just possess it to give. It is a stance in life, a way of being." He is quick to point out that this is not a license to let others take advantage. In fact, this becomes the real battle, extending grace and maintaining a life that is not abused. Our current corporate climate is built more on competition than trust. it is simply easier to treat everyone as an adversary, than a partner. But the point of this little book is to create a different culture, a different way. His point is that we have to change the way we think before we can expect the way we act to change. Orthodoxy always drives orthopraxy, not the other way around.

Here is my question. Are we born with a bent towards grace? or do we develop it? I don't know. I have come to the conclusion that there are generous people and there are people who are not encumbered with the flaw of generosity. Can we teach them differently? I think we move them a little along the continuum from stingy to generous, but I'm not sure they will ever make the entire journey. Being able to extend "favor" or "grace" may be the same way. Some folks may just be born with that chip, while others are not.

I am in the midst of helping develop a company. A primary concept in our interviewing process is one of collaboration, of extending "favor" to each other and to our customers. We will not stand for territorial battles, we will sacrifice talent for team. I don't want us to be uniform, I want us to be unified. Pipe-dream? Maybe. But we are going to give it a shot. We are going to develop partnerships based on trust. This is going to require transparency, forgiveness, and grace. Will it work? I will let you know in a few years.

Godspeed
Don

Ground Zero

2010-05-19T09:29:00.002-05:00

It looks like the new company we have been working on will become a reality. The money has transferred, but not posted. We met for a strategy session in LA yesterday and today. We gathered the entire company together..all four of us. One of the other players works for me, then he went back to the airport and it left three senior officers to discuss our next moves. It occurred to me that we needed to hire somebody, anybody, so we would have someone to boss around. It is a little unsettling to realize that the group that makes it happen is sitting around one small table, each relying on the other to get the job done.

I am excited, anxious, scared, thrilled, exuberant, hesitant, unsure, and positive. You sort out all the conflicting feelings.

But here are a few things that I think work in our favor.

The CEO knows what he is doing. He is genius in pulling together finance, sourcing, operations and distribution. I have blogged about him before, and here is his greatest strength..he is honest. He and I are as different as night and day, literally. I go to bed at 10PM (Texas time, it doesn't matter what time zone I am in) He is a very late night owl. I'm up and at 'em at 5AM (again, Texas time) He is not fully aware of an 8AM (any time zone) I am a hardcore morning person, he is decided not. I play golf and hit the elliptical three times a week, he swims. He is a numbers person, I am a single numbers person, sales dollars. He needs to figure out the rest. But we have a great deal in common. We both care about our people, we both want to work in a culture of openness and collaboration, we both are intensely loyal to the people who share our dreams and we are both dreamers..each in our own way.

Is it possible that God held us all in place to start this at precisely this time? I have never seen a moment in time more ripe with potential than right now. We have talked about this for 2 years. We have run through all the scenarios, he has suffered through job loss and lost everything. But now we have a chance to make this a truly special unique force in a very small industry. It occurs to me that this has all lined up at the right moment and circumstances. I veer away from God taking a personal stake in trivial events, but this one has His fingerprints all over it. This feels right, as in it feels like it is exactly what I need to be doing right now. Ever feel that way?

Finally, this is an opportunity to make a cultural statement in business culture. All my life I have "inherited" the sins and successes of others. I have become pretty adept at deflecting the shortcomings, while selling the strengths of other's dreams. Now it is my turn to develop the dream, to instill it in others, and to finally make a place where people of integrity will want to work. Above all else I want compassionate people, who work hard, who care deeply about what we are trying to do, who understand the priorities of life. We can create that in a corporate structure. I honestly believe we can.

Anyway, if you have followed my journey, whisper a little prayer for me and my little group.
Godspeed
Don

You Are In My Spot

2010-05-13T07:30:00.002-05:00

There is something endearing and slightly alarming about people who do not filter what they say with societal conventions. About my only TV show that I can stand right now is Big Bang Theory, in which there is a character named Sheldon, who simply speaks the truth as he sees it. There is a constant tension where he is trying to figure out the concept of sarcasm. His buddies all understand his lack of discernment, exploit it occasionally, and are surprised each week that he still doesn't "get it". It makes me laugh when people say WHAT WE ARE ALL THINKING.

We all have people in our lives who bring this unfiltered influence into our lives. Actually I have several. There is something at once endearing about them, and sometimes more than slightly alarming about them. I'm sure there are degrees of this societal phenomenon. One of my favorite people is a guy who used to be in youth ministry, who had a little of this trait. I used to kid him that he always chose to carpet bomb a situation when a single sniper might do the trick. He is no longer in church work. Strangely enough churches can't handle the truth. The other guy that comes to mind was the worship leader at our current church campsite. This guy just makes me smile because you never know what he is going to say. I am one of the fringe guys on the praise team, you know the last kid chosen for the touch football team. I'm that guy on the praise team. I am what you might call a "tweener" not a true bass, not a true tenor, but able to pass on either one. On a side note, I can't read music on either, so it kind of evens up. Anyway, one day we were short on basses, so I asked if he wanted me to sing bass..His response, "you will always sing tenor!" No conversation, no doubt, no sugar-coating, no societal filtering. He was not being rude, or ugly, he just felt no compunction to be PC. I have laughed and laughed about that. By the way, he moved out of town and now I sing bass every once in a while. Showed him.

So we have these people and we love them, we cherish them, and we fear what they are going to say. I envy them. However, I have decided that I am not one of them. I can be frank, but I always try to soften the blow. There is great satisfaction for me when I can communicate softly enough that people respond, but can't really put their finger on why they did. I find that intriguing. Perhaps this other Sheldon communication model has to be developed early. That way everyone knows what to expect.

Here's what I think needs to happen. We need one day a year where over our head appears the "thought cloud." You know, like in cartoons, where the character is saying one thing, but the thought cloud reveals exactly what he is thinking. Of course we would have to put in those symbols for words we never say out loud, but other than that we get a free day. You are in my spot. What the h___ is wrong with you? That is one ugly dog/baby/car/outfit. You're an idiot (this one might be so over used we would have to just assume it). I stopped listening to you 15 minutes ago, can I leave now? Do you have a point? Who cares.....

Godspeed out there. Love those who speak the truth..it may not be PC, but in the long run it is what we need.
Don

Belated Mother's Day

2010-05-11T06:51:00.002-05:00

This was a strange Mother's Day for me. Off and on all day my thoughts wandered to my mother. For 28 years I have not spent a lot of time dwelling on her absence. The first few years were tough, but life intrudes and life moves on. Holidays and birthdays, my family growing, my kids needing my time and attention, career and jobs, relocations, life moves on. It did instill in me a deep resentment towards the catch-all illness called "cancer." But as time has slipped by her memory fades a bit, the everyday ache is gone.

Pictures that were pulled out would remind me of her influence in my life. Her auburn hair, her ability to make all of us feel special. She was not a terribly complicated woman, very little formal education, high school and some vocational school, no college. But she had a deep interest in things spiritual. The memories I do retain from my childhood all seem to center around the dinner table. We had full breakfasts every day of the week; eggs, bacon, biscuits. Then on Saturday she would add pancakes to the above. It was with some consternation that I realized that my new bride was not going to provide this same breakfast menu every morning. What I realized much later was that my mom would get up an hour or so before all the rest of us and pray for her family, by name and circumstance. This was how she started her day. All these years later I find myself doing the same.

I also don't remember many weekend lunches or dinners where we did not have "extras." My buddies were all raised under her watchful eye, my brothers and sister would all have friends over and mom would gather them in as hers and love on them, lecture them, whatever seemed to be needed. She raised us all. The dinner table was, at once a place to eat, a place to tease, to argue, to fuss, to laugh. It was her pulpit, her domain, and she welcomed all to it. Perhaps this is where I have developed such a distaste for dining alone. I love the noise and confusion, side-bars, spills and chills. It makes me feel at home..regardless of where I am.

So this past Sunday a few realizations resulted. My son is the same age I was when my mom passed away. I wanted to tell him to appreciate his mom. I want to tell all of you who still are fortunate enough to have your mom's around to appreciate them. They are the glue that holds the family together. I wonder what circumstances would be different had she survived. Who knows? It doesn't do much good to speculate, because she didn't survive. But I do miss her simple wisdom. I miss her making me feel special (she is the only one who would make banana pudding and make me my own helping that was sans bananas; its an entire different story) I miss her willingness to mix it up with anyone on spiritual matters. She would corner the pulpit guys at the church where we attended and discuss her take on their sermons (I wonder where I get it?) And she was usually right. But at her funeral these preachers were just as devastated as the rest of us. She was certainly one of a kind.

This next year I will be her age when she died. Have I made the same impact in the world as she did? I still have women come up to me and tell me how much influence my mom had on their lives because of the young women's class she taught all those years at church. It makes me feel proud and it makes me feel that I am under-utilizing the time I have been given. The newer models just don't have the same amount of steel than the older models did.

I dreamed about her Sunday night. That hasn't happened in years. She hugged me close and said, "I worry about you the most." Great, I'm still a problem.

Godspeed to all out there who have lost your moms, life goes on, but the lessons are eternal. To those who still have them, hug them and let them know they hold a very special and singular place.
Don

Panic! Then Calmmm

2010-05-06T09:23:00.002-05:00

Panic attacks used to be a part of my daily life. They tend to spring up like spring storms, rage around in my psyche for a time, then blow themselves out. You know the feeling, tight chest coupled with anxiety with a dash of fear, panic.

They seem to hit late at night. I'm asleep or in that between-sleep moment. Something gets into my head and the thought strings take me to the worst possible conclusions. It is like running down a very steep hill, the legs are working faster and faster, but the forward body lean is moving faster than the legs. You know you are going to crash. You know it is going to hurt. You know there is nothing you can do about it. Meanwhile your mind is racing, looking for answers, and hoping to survive the crash.

In the midst of all this job search I have not had a single moment of panic...until last night. It hit around 3:30AM, and all I could think of was the way all the possibilities could go away. They could choose someone else, the money won't come in, nothing will turn out right. My eyes popped open with all these thoughts and fears chasing each other around in my head. Sleep was gone and gone for good it seemed.

In the past, this panic would survive for days in my soul. There was a point not a few years ago that I needed prescription help in order to function. For some reason when a grown man bursts into tears during a sales presentation everyone gets really uncomfortable. It only lasted 30 days or so, but there was not any real way to get through the day emotionally. By the way, these prescriptions don't help you feel better, they simply flatten out the emotional ride, so you feel sort of blah all day long. Functional but not fun.

So being far from home (I'm in California trying to get a deal put together) I followed my own advice. All the times before prayer would fill my head, anguished pleas to God to relieve this pain. sometimes it would take a few days, sometimes life just interrupted this part of my attack. I got out of bed, opened my thin-line and read from the psalmist, then prayed. Only in a handful of cases has the calm returned quickly, but this was one of those times. I read for an hour, intermittently praying, and dozed off in the chair. Calm rested again in my soul. Confidence was again restored, life will continue to be led by someone far more adept at living than I am. It is a wonder to behold when the Spirit steps in and does the work.

I am not very good at this spiritual disciplines gig, but I have great interest and belief that it has deep consequences (or results, whichever word you feel comfortable with) The panic attack is over, only a slight tremor in my soul.

Godspeed out there. The hand of God can calm or destroy. I guess it depends on our intent.
Don

Wanted:

2010-05-04T07:32:00.002-05:00

I had an interesting conversation with a friend of mine who happens to be a very good pulpit minister. His congregation is well over 1000 folks and seems to be healthy and growing. I had called to check on him because his area had received about 2' of rain over the weekend and everything was flooding. We talk all the time, but this time there was an actual reason to call. (His house is okay, but several families had to be evacuated)

After he told me all the weather stories, we talked about the changes in our tribe. Who had gone where, which preacher had resigned, etc. I told him about the pulpit guy from my daughter's church resigning, on the heels of the admin minister resigning, on the heels of them letting the children's minister go..lots of empty offices. Anyway, he had counted numerous guys that had left full-time active preaching for other efforts. Some were para-church organizations, some to do something else. His take on it was that if you were 45-55, willing to relocate, and a fair preacher, you could land a job.

But the real question for me was the over-arching question of why these guys were hanging it up. Wasn't this supposed to be the pinnacle of self-fulfilling work? Shouldn't these guys, above all others, feel that their jobs had meaning and significance? Why would you leave this?

The first thought might be money. But I'm here to tell you that these guys make a pretty decent living. Most of the guys in congregations over 600 make six figures. There are good benefits, sabbaticals, vacation, continuing education. Not a bad way to spend your day.

The second thought might be the schedule. Now this one may have merit. You aren't really ever "off." It can be a 24/7 deal if you don't draw pretty clear boundaries. But even then there are expectations that have to be dealt with from the leadership group (I will address that one a little further down)

I have always felt that the pulpit job might demand the widest range of skills of any job. You have to be a "people person" loving the kids, loving the old folks and everyone in between. It came a quite a revelation to me several years ago that the really premier "preachers" were intense introverts, while the preachers who were extroverts tended to be simply adequate as communicators. Interesting. So from one person we ask them to be the most congenial amongst us, the deepest theological thinkers (which takes "alone" time, and lots of it) planners, strategists, communicators, encourager, the list goes. I am here to tell you that these guys simply don't exist. But the pressure to perform in all these areas will ultimately grind anyone down.

And then there is the very real fact that they are working for entitled amateurs. In my tribe, they are called elders. These elders have the ability to hire and fire, set job descriptions, do evaluations, and generally meddle in every part of every one's ministry. And they have no training, no requirements themselves, no parameters in which they have to work. Given, some are gifted amateurs but amateurs none the less. Contrast that with the pulpit guy who has thousands of hours of training, experience, has spent thousands to learn their craft, spends 20 hours a week preparing for a 20-30 minute communication model, then is critiqued by some folks who have not spent any time in training, none invested in being better at their role, but who feel completely entitled to direct from the pew.

A couple of years ago a study showed that we were 30% low on ministers, if every job position was filled. That percentage is rapidly growing. The weight of sustaining the organization is simply becoming too cumbersome. That is why you have guys going to para-church organizations and planting new churches. It is the last place in ministry where they can go and be in control of their own destiny.

Of course as soon as the community of faith becomes an organized church the cycle starts all over again. We have a model that simply does not work. Think about that for a second and see how you feel about it.

Godspeed out there.
Don

Faith Lost

2010-04-29T07:18:00.003-05:00

I have followed with interest the news stories of Laura Bush releasing her biography, Spoken From The Heart. The single story that the reporters are focusing on is her admission that she "lost" her faith after a 1963 car crash in which a classmate was killed. She accepts responsibility for the crash, apparently visiting with a friend in the car and ran a stop sign. Tragedy, guilt, remorse, pain, and ultimately a "loss of faith" are her scars from that event. I haven't read the book, but intend to. But several thoughts have swirled around in my head since hearing and reading these announcements of the release of the book.

The first reaction was simply, "Yep, I've been there." I think anyone who approaches this journey with even a single grain of honesty understands that faith abandonment is going to happen. We live in a realm where we can't ever see what we claim to believe in. This makes it extraordinarily difficult to keep up a good front. Life simply conspires to drive us down, and we are asked draw our strength from what some would call an absentee owner. I have written before about the "Thundering Silence" that frequently accompanies deep crisis in the life of the believer, it is more common than most of us are willing to admit. At some level I lose faith a little bit everyday, then come across a moment that restores all the faith, renews the hope, and gives me the will to move on. I really appreciate the honesty that it takes for someone to freely admit that they have lost faith. I think it is the first step back to regaining what was lost.

Secondly, I'm not sure we understand the phrase "lost faith" quite the same. There are times when my spirit drops low enough for me to question the existence, or at least the effectiveness, of God in our world. Descartes might make the point that if we question the existence of God we are already admitting that we believe He exists (I love philosophers, they make me feel good about the most perplexing questions) So I come back to the idea that in my wrestling with the concept of God, I am affirming my willingness to believe. Get it? I'm having a hard time explaining, but maybe if we can agree that there are people out there who don't care about all this, then at least my concern reveals a heart turned toward God. Whew.

Finally, faith is a creature that stays hidden sometimes and reveals itself only long after a crisis. Sometimes it even surprises us when we realize that we are calm in the midst of a storm, and shouldn't be. I found out 20+ years ago that the worst time to evaluate your faith is in the midst of a terrible event. The best thing to do at that moment is to believe that the God we serve is merciful and can forgive our anger/depression/heart-brokenness. It is like when our kids are little and have a terrible time with something and we try to hug them close and they fight and cry and lash out at us, but we gather in their struggling arms and legs and push their crying eyes close to our breast and calm them. We hold them close amidst the crying and struggling, rocking back and forth, shushing them with our love, and never question that we love them and they love us...even though they might at that moment claim they have no faith in our love for them. We forgive that child-ness in them because we know they will, in time, understand.

Godspeed, there are times when we have to believe that the path we are on, the journey we have undertaken will lead us home.
Don

Invaders

2010-04-27T07:40:00.002-05:00

Years ago I used to eat lunch at McD's. It was quick, it was easy, it was cheap, it was not particularly good for me. I knew what I wanted, I could eat in Dallas or Denver, or Detroit and it all tasted the same. No surprises. Then they put in those plastic, child-eating, in-door playgrounds. The place was instantly invaded by a crowd of toddlers. Sigh. So I had to find somewhere else to go.

Then I found Chik-fil-A. Better food, cleaner restrooms, nice people. I could eat some chicken strips with ice tea and calmly enjoy my meal. About this time I began to notice that they were putting in those in-door playgrounds. Uh oh. Here they came. Hordes of soccer moms in their huge shiny Suburbans and Tahoes, ready to run me and my little Ranger down trying to get to the best parking spot. As I would stand in line it occurred to me that there seemed to be factory somewhere stamping out these young women and their kids. You know the ones I mean, blonde hair pulled back through their little baseball caps, jogging suits with contrast stripes, and kids...lots and lots of kids. I can almost look at them and guess the year model, that one is an '80 model, that is an '78 with some after-market upgrades. For self preservation alone I had to find a new place.

About a week ago I was having an early lunch before a job interview at my favorite restaurant..Panera Bread. As I sat there and ate my salad I noticed a young mom come in with a toddler in tow and an infant in a stroller. Being the grandaddy I am, I smiled and enjoyed watching her unfold, unpack, and settle in. How cute, what memories. Then another showed up, and another, and another. You have GOT to be kidding! I was trapped by a convoy of strollers and diaper bags and kids! I wanted to jump up on the table and shout at them that this was MY place, there are no playgrounds, no chicken strips, no changing tables! Is there no place sacred?!? Isn't there any place I can go to escape the invaders? So I bolted out of the place before some grimy little hands smeared peanut butter on my slacks.

Finally I figured out a phenomenon in our society. Luby's. 4 o'clock. I don't like the food, don't like eating dinner at 4PM, don't enjoy eating with an entire restaurant full of retirees. But it is the only place in America that is toddler- soccer mom-playground-proof. Probably none of the folks in there like the idea of eating displaced hospital food in the middle of the afternoon either, but it is the only place where they can park, not get run down by an SUV, and eat in peace and quiet, and not break a hip tripping on a stroller getting out. So I guess the Luanne platter is in my future.

Godspeed to all you old coots, see you at 4.
Don

Mission's End?

2010-04-26T06:59:00.002-05:00

This morning when checking my emails I received the message that the group we were going to join for a mission trip to Mexico was cancelling their trip. The violence had gotten too severe in the location where we were headed. The hotels where we had stayed for two of the last three trips had been the scene of the latest kidnappings. When we looked at the pictures from the news stories it was in the lobbies where we would gather before loading the buses to the worksites. It was a little chilling to realize that the Mexican military was blockaded from the hotels by the cartels involved in the kidnappings. So the man who had started the mission effort 25+ years ago had made the decision to suspend all group trips to Mexico for this summer.

We were saddened. My bride had made the trip for all but one of the efforts for the past 13 or 14 years. I had witnessed her willingness to step in beside teenage boys and girls and shovel gravel, pour concrete, cut rebar, clear brush, build forms, dig trenches, handle an electric-powered jack hammer, tie concrete forms, haul lumber, handle a wheelbarrow, and drop to one knee and visit with a three-year-old from the local church in the heart language of God's people. It was not uncommon for us to blow out the tennis shoes we wore, tear holes in the work gloves, ruin tee-shirts with wet concrete stains, and give away bags of hard candy. You can look at pictures from years gone by and see the same old visor she wore on each trip, I have an old hat that is beyond repair, but a reminder that there is work to do, and it is work that requires sweat and labor, faith and trust, love and hope. Only in the past few years have we roomed together on our trips. For all the earlier trips we were room chaperons for the kids we went with. The girls always loved having my bride as their chaperon, the guys always put up with my being theirs. But we were always reminded that the work is important, that it was up to us to do it, that it was a small price to pay for the gratifying accomplishment of spending a week doing precisely what we felt the Lord was calling us to.

So how can this come to an end? There are a number of explanations that leap to mind.
It is too dangerous. Let me tell you that I believe that mission is never safe. We have a very narrow view of mission if one of the requirements is that it be as safe as Vacation Bible School. While every precaution was taken to ensure safety (Rick used to tell us that if anyone were seriously hurt or killed, then the effort of building churches in Mexico was over)the risk was always there.

Perhaps this stoppage is temporary. The work will continue when the work environment is better. This could be, Rick is reaching the age where he is ready to finish the work he has started. This effort has been driven by his stubborn refusal to be thwarted. So perhaps someone else will pick it up, or it shifts to other locations.

It could be that the work as it is currently done is over. God has chosen to shift to the next level, the next iteration of the work in Mexico. The church may not need more buildings, but more leaders, more followers. This is Spirit work. I think God may be willing to let the work shift more to disciple-building, and less concrete pouring. Are we ready to help there? The American churches have far more man-power and money than spiritual discernment, so I'm not sure how much help we might be. As the scripture says, "Some will sow and others will reap." Perhaps we need to be content with our role as "sowers."

My bride and I are sad. We have had to find other groups going that will let us tag along, but we have made great friends, laughed about the work, struggled with the setbacks. We hugged this morning and wondered if this portion of what we do is over. We can still work (not as fast or as hard as before) but are stopped because of the sin in the world. It seems that Satan has temporarily won the battle, the war is far from over. We want to go back, there is nothing quite like having Rick say to us, "You are a pretty good Mexican." This is his highest praise.

Godspeed out there. Two seasoned missionaries are ready to roll, keep us in mind.
Don

Tears of a Clown

2010-04-20T07:08:00.002-05:00

This past week has been something of a roller-coaster. Usually we try to handle the ups and downs with as much aplomb as possible. But every once in a while the emotions are just beneath the surface, looking for an opportunity to come bubbling out.

The first thing that happened almost got by us without any fanfare at all. I don't "facebook", but my bride does. One morning last week she sent me an email that was copied from our son-in-law's facebook page. As most of you know our eldest daughter is a three-time cancer soldier. It started when she was eleven, reoccurred when she was twenty-one, then again three years ago after the birth of our granddaughter. It is through this twenty-odd year journey that I have developed most of my thoughts and opinions on prayer and guidance and mercy and God's mission and all the other big theological distinctives. They don't necessarily line up with my tribe's conventional wisdom, but they are hard earned feelings. We have experienced the devastating news of recurrence, and we have endured the slow rebuilding of faith. The news he reported was that the oncologist had told them that the tumors in her liver were too small to be called tumors any longer. Stunning news, overwhelming news, news almost missed due to my lack of techno involvement. So how do I react to this news? Did I jump for joy? did I shout? Did I fist-pump? No, I cried. Deep, thankful, humiliation inducing tears.

Saturday we joined my youngest in a March of Dimes walk. We were on Team Lincoln. for some reason his battle in NICU for the first month of his life has transformed my youngest into an activist. Who knew? It was a 5 mile walk (just about 18 holes) As we moved along there were little signs that "honored" this child and that who had been born preemies, or birth defects (like Lincoln) and usually showed a smiling young child, growing and healthy and a blessing to their families. There were other signs, though, signs that said, "In Memory" These broke my heart. I tried to read each one, but the emotional battle became too fierce. For, you see, I was fighting back tears while walking. Hopes and dreams and futures dashed before they could be realized. Unfortunately, I could more than understand the pain and the need to move on, like our walk, seeing some signs of hope and joy, and other signs of "what could have been."

And then there was my daughter-in-law having to go to the hospital in a panic that there was something going wrong with her pregnancy. She is 7 months along, they had a very hard time getting pregnant, and each little bobble rightly creates a lot of anxiety. As soon as we heard that not-yet-born Isaac was okay, and mom was okay, and things would progress normally, we finally let our guard down a little. My son was apprehensive and as we ran for food at a nearby restaurant we talked. The concern in his voice and the fear that this might not end well again broke my heart. Now here is where maturity helps a little. Advice about how to handle this was flying out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop it. It occurred to me that the wisdom came from 20 years of praying, making mistakes, losing hope, gaining faith, learning to baton down the hatches and cope. I have no idea if he heard any of this, but he seemed to respond. Now when I got alone...I cried.

So here is my question. Since when did this become my response to good news, bad news, joyous news, worrisome news. I hate it when I cry. I feel like an idiot. Worse yet I feel like my kids are going to slap me in a home for the emotionally unstable.

"Doc, he just keeps bursting into tears. We can't handle it anymore."
"Hmm, perhaps we can try some shock therapy, or maybe there is something else wrong."
"Well, fix it. He's a mess."

I suspect it is the loss of control. It has come as a slow realization that in most of life's circumstances we have very little control. Of course when we do have control we usually screw it up, so I'm not sure why we such as fixation on it. It does help a little that the one I follow was called a "man of tears". He understood the value of tears as an expression of deep feelings, of great passions. But it still exasperates me that at those moments words fail me and tears are the only way to communicate my emotions. I would prefer erudition, but what I get are tears, tears of a clown. Sigh.

Anyway, here's hoping for a calm week. No news is good news.

Godspeed
Don