Tuesday, December 21, 2010

I Yam What I Yam

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

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Connected

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

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Creative Dissonance

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

Friday, December 10, 2010

Urge, Instinct, Energy?

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

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Back in the Saddle

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

Friday, November 26, 2010

Thanksgiving

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

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

When At the End

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

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

The Moment

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

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

A Song on Our Hearts

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

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

New Experiences

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

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Who me?

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

Friday, October 15, 2010

World Changer

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

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Scattershooting

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

Friday, October 1, 2010

Sayings

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

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Old Friends

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

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Times..They are A'Changin'

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

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Here, There, and Everywhere

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

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Old Wounds

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

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Going Purple

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

Friday, September 3, 2010

Re-Orientation

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

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

A Sort of Good Idea

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

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Wedding Day

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

Thursday, August 5, 2010

What's The Point

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

Monday, August 2, 2010

A Better Me

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

Friday, July 23, 2010

The Happiest Place on Earth

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

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

I'm Back

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

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Quiet Time

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

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Mowing the Lawn

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

Monday, June 28, 2010

And Then There Were Four..

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

Thursday, June 24, 2010

A Tale of Two Journals

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

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Let's Go Surfin' Now

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