So this week I flew to Baltimore. The rep and I called on a couple of accounts, spent 3 nights on the road in three different hotels (by the way, found a new favorite..A-Loft, problem is they are pretty rare) Then flew home on Thursday looking forward to some time at home with my bride.
Landed in Dallas and texted my bride who informed me she was in a training session preparing for the upcoming school year. Ok, so I have some time to get some work done. But wait, she is not coming home because she is spending the night with her cousin and then a trip to see an aging aunt and uncle in Dublin, TX.
Well this is new, me at home and her on the road. So what to do?
I decided to cook dinner, not go out. One of the primary dislikes I have in my job is eating out alone. My daughters and my bride have all asked why I don't order room service. Several reasons: 1. most of the hotels I stay in don't have room service. They all have "take-out" menus from local pizza places, or Chinese food, but nothing cooked on site. 2. The only thing I hate more than eating out alone is eating in alone. I find it depressing. I like good conversation at dinner, not mediocre TV. 3. It stinks up the room.
And while I don't like eating out alone, it is the lesser of two evils.
Tilapia pan seared, fruit salad (my bride always has fruit around) and a guacamole that may have been the best I have fixed in years. It was quiet and yes, the TV was on, but it was in my own house with my stuff and the stuff of my bride. It was not sad or lonely. 90% of the stuff in our house is my bride's stuff, but as I sat there and ate I could look around the room and be reminded that even though she was not there, she was around, her stuff reminded me that I was not alone.
But all this made me think those thought strings that seem to be my way of adjusting. So this is how it is for her when I am not home? Does she find the same comfort when she goes in the closet and my clothes are hanging there with hers? Does she glance at my bookshelves and see some of what has made me think the way I do?
Then it occurred to me that perhaps if we could spend a moment in the context of those around us, we might be a bit more forgiving. It made me examine the core of my perception as it relates to those I have a problem with. Some of their actions may have no more than a defensive effort.
But then the expansion of the thought to nation/state status. How would we feel if a foreign sovereignty invaded our shores because of the way we treat immigrants, or minorities, or gays, or children? What if they felt completely justified in dismantling our government in the name of socialism or whatever? All of a sudden it occurs to me that when we look at our actions in recent history I have little wonder that most of the world simply does not care for us very much. Our sense of entitlement wreaks havoc on our public image.
And this analysis can go on and on. Mission trips all of a sudden come under scrutiny. Would I appreciate someone from another place coming in and "helping" me with my home or my children or my church? What if I like my circumstances? Are you coming here for me or for you? How do we share resources without undermining the foundational human dignity that we are all born with? Can I extend a helping hand or receive a helping hand with no qualifications? with no stipulations? I tithe every paycheck. I do not give to organized religion, be it church or institutions. I give to people. Most of my tithes do me no good at tax time. But they are given with a certain amount of prayer and Spirit input. There are no stipulations on it. One young man I gave the money to gave it away to others. He called to apologize in case I felt it was frivolous on his part. I told him when I give it I turn it loose. It is not up to me to follow up. I see it as a way to pour a cup of water into the ocean of benevolence, it adds to it, but gets assimilated with all the other good in the world. Be it my version of good or not. It is my way of getting out of my way.
So I try to see the world from others eyes. Immigrants struggle with certain challenges, minorities understand a certain handicap in the world, gays understand the isolation and loss of civil advantages, my bride understands the aloneness due to the nature of my job. It is when I see those things that I can be a bit more understanding. I can come a little closer to getting it.
Godspeed to us all. My bride has said often that she and I do not have the same marriage. I would agree. I got a small glimpse of hers last night. It was good for me to see. I love the words to the hymn, "open the eyes of my heart, Lord" Illumination is always a good thing.
Don
Friday, August 16, 2013
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Out of Place
A couple of times a year it seems that I am required to spend a few days in Vegas. It is the least favorite thing I am asked to do. It is an assault on my ears and eyes and spirit. I can't hear well because of all the noise, I can't breath well because of all the smoke, and I can't think well because of the lifestyle exhibited here. Vegas stands for all the things that I do not. Yet, there is a certain fascination with this place. It is like a little boy peering in the window of a candy store at all the pretty, fake candies. They lure him in, yet if he eats them, because they are fake they will make him desperately ill. So Vegas is for the adult boys and girls. We peer in the windows, knowing the lights and fun are fake, knowing the participation will coarsen the soul and make us desperately ill. Yet we are tempted.
So when I come here my disciplines get better. While on the road I try to spend a portion of every morning in Word, prayer, and thought. But sometimes I miss, I slack or am too tired or bored or lazy. But it is not the same missing the disciplines in Albany, GA or Syracuse NY or Tampa FL, these places are not specifically designed to trip me up. Vegas was created for the sole purpose of extracting money and morals from the military personnel to or from billets in the service. It has grown to ensnare all of us.
This morning I was simply looking for a moment of guidance. The city, the sales meeting, the temptations will be relentless over the next few days. Here is what the Spirit offered up:
Lord, who may dwell in your sanctuary?
Who may live on your holy hill?
He whose walk is blameless and who does what is righteous,
who speaks the truth from his heart
and has no slander on his tongue,
who does his neighbor no wrong and casts no slur on his fellowman,
who despises a vile man
but honors those who fear the Lord,
who keeps his oath even when it hurts,
who lends money without usury and does not accept a bribe against the innocent.
He who does these things will never be shaken.
Psalm 15
"who speaks the truth from his heart" This tells me that the Lord would prefer we speak to people truthfully in love. This city is not built on this standard. I cannot adopt the ways of this city without sacrificing or mortgaging my place in the "sanctuary". It is too easy to speak the truth and intentionally harm by doing so. It is also easy to forgo the truth and turn our lives from God. It requires both.
"who keeps his oath even when it hurts" This life has become a series of "deals" that are easily broken. Who may live in God's presence? The one who tells the truth in love and who stands by what he says.
This moment in the Word has given me a point for the day. While I may be tempted by the fake candy, I know that there is a better and more satisfying way to live. So in the midst of all that is not God, He whispers a quiet truth, "You are still mine."
Godspeed to us all, though tempted, return to the sanctuary.
Don
So when I come here my disciplines get better. While on the road I try to spend a portion of every morning in Word, prayer, and thought. But sometimes I miss, I slack or am too tired or bored or lazy. But it is not the same missing the disciplines in Albany, GA or Syracuse NY or Tampa FL, these places are not specifically designed to trip me up. Vegas was created for the sole purpose of extracting money and morals from the military personnel to or from billets in the service. It has grown to ensnare all of us.
This morning I was simply looking for a moment of guidance. The city, the sales meeting, the temptations will be relentless over the next few days. Here is what the Spirit offered up:
Lord, who may dwell in your sanctuary?
Who may live on your holy hill?
He whose walk is blameless and who does what is righteous,
who speaks the truth from his heart
and has no slander on his tongue,
who does his neighbor no wrong and casts no slur on his fellowman,
who despises a vile man
but honors those who fear the Lord,
who keeps his oath even when it hurts,
who lends money without usury and does not accept a bribe against the innocent.
He who does these things will never be shaken.
Psalm 15
"who speaks the truth from his heart" This tells me that the Lord would prefer we speak to people truthfully in love. This city is not built on this standard. I cannot adopt the ways of this city without sacrificing or mortgaging my place in the "sanctuary". It is too easy to speak the truth and intentionally harm by doing so. It is also easy to forgo the truth and turn our lives from God. It requires both.
"who keeps his oath even when it hurts" This life has become a series of "deals" that are easily broken. Who may live in God's presence? The one who tells the truth in love and who stands by what he says.
This moment in the Word has given me a point for the day. While I may be tempted by the fake candy, I know that there is a better and more satisfying way to live. So in the midst of all that is not God, He whispers a quiet truth, "You are still mine."
Godspeed to us all, though tempted, return to the sanctuary.
Don
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Night Wonderings...or Wanderings
Occasionally my mind wakes me up to work on a few things. Sometimes it is working out a thought or idea, to follow the thought strings and see where they go. On some occasions the night thoughts turn to projects that need to be completed and have stumped me for a time. But in some moments, though rare, my mind wakes me up to dwell on past mistakes. This is the least favorite wake up call.
This morning was one of those moments. The reflections were of past mistakes, errors in judgment, lapses in emotional honesty, moral breakdowns. I am not sure why this is a part of my nature. Maybe it is simply a part of the human condition. My mind would skitter and jump from one mistake to another, then dwell on a single incident for a time, bubbling up the regret, the angst, the embarrassment, the shame all over again.
And the moments used the entire library of my life for resource. Stupid stunts as a kid, when I embarrassed my parents. Hard headed teenage decisions that could have changed the shape and scope of my future (and probably did at some level). And adult mistakes that harmed not only me, but those around me, those closest to me. These thoughts were not time sequential, just lined up one after another in random order to bring their special form of pain.
We all have the knack for blaming others for these mistakes.
He started it
I didn't know...
No one was looking..
It is not my fault..
But in these night wonderings, in the still of the house, it comes back to me. No matter how I turn the little object in my hand it is a small mirror showing only my face. It is a moment of emotional clarity. These reflected memories were all on me. They were my fault.
So other than lose sleep, and spend a lot of anxiety about events I can't change, what do I do with them? Even the ones that are recent I can't alter. The events occurred, I failed, the world keeps spinning. So now what?
Then when it seems that the conclusion in my own head is that I am, in general, a failure. I reach to my right and touch someone who has seen most of these mistakes, taken the brunt of most of them...and stayed with me. My bride still sends me texts telling me she loves me. Snapshots start floating by of three kids who also saw most of these failures and call me often and tell me they love me, even the add-on kids-in-law tell me they love me and invite me to dinner and on trips and into their homes. Then there is my six-pack, Eli and Phoebe, Isaac and Abby, Lincoln and Lola, who all laugh and climb on me. They don't know all the mistakes, but I think they are responding to someone they know loves them, will do anything for them. Somewhere this crowd of 13 have decided that there is something of value in this flawed, stupid, egotistical, brain numb knucklehead. The mistakes become secondary.
Here is my big conclusion. Whatever knowledge, or insight, or wisdom I have has come, not from my training or mental intellect, or innate ability, but from my mistakes. The mistakes are woven into the very fabric of who I am. The greatest crime I can commit is to see the brown eyes of my bride well up with tears of hurt or shame or disappointment. The same trickles all the down to the littlest ones. I cannot bear to bring them sorryow through my actions. But past mistakes slow the making of new mistakes.
Then on a deeper level, I realize that the Creator has given me the chance to use my mistakes, not bear the burden of them. He knew what he was creating when He formed me. And He formed me flawed for a reason. The reason is that He knew that whatever help I could lend to my little community would be out of the wisdom and pain of my mistakes. I do not understand this wisdom He possesses, but I trust it.
Godspeed to the night wanderers. The journey comes with both stumbles and insight, usually at the same time.
Don
This morning was one of those moments. The reflections were of past mistakes, errors in judgment, lapses in emotional honesty, moral breakdowns. I am not sure why this is a part of my nature. Maybe it is simply a part of the human condition. My mind would skitter and jump from one mistake to another, then dwell on a single incident for a time, bubbling up the regret, the angst, the embarrassment, the shame all over again.
And the moments used the entire library of my life for resource. Stupid stunts as a kid, when I embarrassed my parents. Hard headed teenage decisions that could have changed the shape and scope of my future (and probably did at some level). And adult mistakes that harmed not only me, but those around me, those closest to me. These thoughts were not time sequential, just lined up one after another in random order to bring their special form of pain.
We all have the knack for blaming others for these mistakes.
He started it
I didn't know...
No one was looking..
It is not my fault..
But in these night wonderings, in the still of the house, it comes back to me. No matter how I turn the little object in my hand it is a small mirror showing only my face. It is a moment of emotional clarity. These reflected memories were all on me. They were my fault.
So other than lose sleep, and spend a lot of anxiety about events I can't change, what do I do with them? Even the ones that are recent I can't alter. The events occurred, I failed, the world keeps spinning. So now what?
Then when it seems that the conclusion in my own head is that I am, in general, a failure. I reach to my right and touch someone who has seen most of these mistakes, taken the brunt of most of them...and stayed with me. My bride still sends me texts telling me she loves me. Snapshots start floating by of three kids who also saw most of these failures and call me often and tell me they love me, even the add-on kids-in-law tell me they love me and invite me to dinner and on trips and into their homes. Then there is my six-pack, Eli and Phoebe, Isaac and Abby, Lincoln and Lola, who all laugh and climb on me. They don't know all the mistakes, but I think they are responding to someone they know loves them, will do anything for them. Somewhere this crowd of 13 have decided that there is something of value in this flawed, stupid, egotistical, brain numb knucklehead. The mistakes become secondary.
Here is my big conclusion. Whatever knowledge, or insight, or wisdom I have has come, not from my training or mental intellect, or innate ability, but from my mistakes. The mistakes are woven into the very fabric of who I am. The greatest crime I can commit is to see the brown eyes of my bride well up with tears of hurt or shame or disappointment. The same trickles all the down to the littlest ones. I cannot bear to bring them sorryow through my actions. But past mistakes slow the making of new mistakes.
Then on a deeper level, I realize that the Creator has given me the chance to use my mistakes, not bear the burden of them. He knew what he was creating when He formed me. And He formed me flawed for a reason. The reason is that He knew that whatever help I could lend to my little community would be out of the wisdom and pain of my mistakes. I do not understand this wisdom He possesses, but I trust it.
Godspeed to the night wanderers. The journey comes with both stumbles and insight, usually at the same time.
Don
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Vacation for Two
It has been a while since my bride and I have taken some days, went somewhere and just enjoyed the trip. No one to visit, no agenda, no plan. Just a 4 day trip using some of my airline miles, some of my hotel points, and renting a car for about $10/day. We targeted Tamps/St. Pete, packed our swimsuits and headed out early on a Friday morning.
A few discoveries were found along the way for me. Apparently I have a hard time ratcheting down from business travel to vacation travel. When traveling on business I am quick through the security at airports, I make my way as quickly as possible to the gate, I run at a different RPM. My bride is not on this pace.
So for the first day I had to slow down, take deep breath, and enjoy the ride.
Also on the first day I was bombarded with emails from work. So I am covertly trying to answer the questions, put out the fires, conduct business. This dual life was making me grumpy. It manifested in our trip as mild, constant bickering. Couples who have logged as many years as we have rarely have the towering infernos of fights that marked our younger years. No, it is more of a constant little skirmish that can go on days and if not checked can become a lifestyle. In the midst of one of our little back and forths I realized this was all my fault for not putting the silly phone away and pay attention to our trip. I texted the kids and told them to use my personal cell number or their mother's number that I was signing off on the business phone. I shut it down, plugged it in to recharge, and had a very pleasant remainder of the weekend.
On landing in Tampa we got our car, checked into our suite at the Doubletree, changed into shorts and tees (I always travel with long sleeves and long pants, airplanes can be brutally cold) and headed out to explore Clearwater and surrounding areas. I drove, my bride navigated. This is where technology has changed our relationship. In the old days my bride's sense of direction was suspect. Now she reads the instructions and passes them along to me. We have found our destination every time. She is a wizard with the I-phone apps, so she gets to guide us from one spot to the next.
We headed back and had dinner in Ybor city at a Spanish restaurant, left before dark (if you know the area you know why), not a great area. Saturday morning was a trip to the beach in St. Pete, where the sand was primarily prickly little seashell parts which prompted a trip to Target for beach shoes. Dinner in Hyde Park in Tampa at the Green Lemon which was a good choice. If you ever find yourself in Tampa for dinner go to Hyde Park, a great little area for dining.
Sunday morning found us on Venice Beach, black grainy sand mixed with white sand gave it a more "gray" look, but fewer folks and a lot more families. Then lunch at a great Italian place in downtown Venice and a meandering trip back to the hotel where we swam in the pool and dodged late afternoon thunderstorms.
Then back to Clearwater on Monday and lunch and finally back to airport for my bride to fly home while I worked in Tampa for a few days.
That hotel suite was one lonely, quiet place after she left, so I broke out the workout clothes and spent an hour working off all the good food and the morose attitude.
It was one of those trips where I struggled to remember our stops along the way as I wrote this, but I remembered certain snapshots of our trip. Little jokes that cracked us up that no one else would get. Observations that we shared, observations that we didn't agree on, but could laugh about while discussing. The little texts that we shared after she was home that seemed to continue the trip a little longer.
There is not anyone else in the world that I can share this type of trip with. We have the shared scars of what the world has tried to do to us. We have the scars of what we have done to each other. But there is no one else who understands the relationship like we do. We have been through all the battles and come out the other side, still committed to each other, still in love, still willing to take up arms against a world that does everything in its power to split us up. There is just something about this chick that makes me tick.
Godspeed to all the lifetime lovers, sometimes the journey is level and straight and lovely to see.
Don
A few discoveries were found along the way for me. Apparently I have a hard time ratcheting down from business travel to vacation travel. When traveling on business I am quick through the security at airports, I make my way as quickly as possible to the gate, I run at a different RPM. My bride is not on this pace.
So for the first day I had to slow down, take deep breath, and enjoy the ride.
Also on the first day I was bombarded with emails from work. So I am covertly trying to answer the questions, put out the fires, conduct business. This dual life was making me grumpy. It manifested in our trip as mild, constant bickering. Couples who have logged as many years as we have rarely have the towering infernos of fights that marked our younger years. No, it is more of a constant little skirmish that can go on days and if not checked can become a lifestyle. In the midst of one of our little back and forths I realized this was all my fault for not putting the silly phone away and pay attention to our trip. I texted the kids and told them to use my personal cell number or their mother's number that I was signing off on the business phone. I shut it down, plugged it in to recharge, and had a very pleasant remainder of the weekend.
On landing in Tampa we got our car, checked into our suite at the Doubletree, changed into shorts and tees (I always travel with long sleeves and long pants, airplanes can be brutally cold) and headed out to explore Clearwater and surrounding areas. I drove, my bride navigated. This is where technology has changed our relationship. In the old days my bride's sense of direction was suspect. Now she reads the instructions and passes them along to me. We have found our destination every time. She is a wizard with the I-phone apps, so she gets to guide us from one spot to the next.
We headed back and had dinner in Ybor city at a Spanish restaurant, left before dark (if you know the area you know why), not a great area. Saturday morning was a trip to the beach in St. Pete, where the sand was primarily prickly little seashell parts which prompted a trip to Target for beach shoes. Dinner in Hyde Park in Tampa at the Green Lemon which was a good choice. If you ever find yourself in Tampa for dinner go to Hyde Park, a great little area for dining.
Sunday morning found us on Venice Beach, black grainy sand mixed with white sand gave it a more "gray" look, but fewer folks and a lot more families. Then lunch at a great Italian place in downtown Venice and a meandering trip back to the hotel where we swam in the pool and dodged late afternoon thunderstorms.
Then back to Clearwater on Monday and lunch and finally back to airport for my bride to fly home while I worked in Tampa for a few days.
That hotel suite was one lonely, quiet place after she left, so I broke out the workout clothes and spent an hour working off all the good food and the morose attitude.
It was one of those trips where I struggled to remember our stops along the way as I wrote this, but I remembered certain snapshots of our trip. Little jokes that cracked us up that no one else would get. Observations that we shared, observations that we didn't agree on, but could laugh about while discussing. The little texts that we shared after she was home that seemed to continue the trip a little longer.
There is not anyone else in the world that I can share this type of trip with. We have the shared scars of what the world has tried to do to us. We have the scars of what we have done to each other. But there is no one else who understands the relationship like we do. We have been through all the battles and come out the other side, still committed to each other, still in love, still willing to take up arms against a world that does everything in its power to split us up. There is just something about this chick that makes me tick.
Godspeed to all the lifetime lovers, sometimes the journey is level and straight and lovely to see.
Don
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Cousin's Camp
Apparently my daughters and my daughter-in-law, plus a lot of encouragement from my bride have instituted a new tradition. It is called "Cousin's Camp" and it been an annual event for 3 years or so. The idea is quite simple. All the ladies bring their kids to our house for part or all of a week of swimming, movies, shopping, and just general fun. The age span this year was 10 down to a year old. We use about 6 gallons of sunscreen, a landfill worth of diapers, and the dishwasher runs non-stop for a week. It is a good time had by all.
Our ten-year-old grandson is the ringleader for the three boys. The 3+-year-old and the just turned 3-year-old adore him and follow him around like puppies. One night Lincoln, our 3+ spent the night and apparently tried to talk his way to sunlight. Eli, the 10 year old asked his Nena for some help getting Lincoln to hush long enough for all to sleep. I think it worked, both seemed pretty well rested the next day.
I have a sore muscle in my neck from trying to watch 2 little girls who can not swim step off the side of the pool with no regard to water depth, to Isaac, our newly minted 3-yr-old who while wearing floaties still makes me nervous, and Lincoln, who just took swim lessons has more confidence than expertise. My head was on a swivel the entire time. I will say at one point I was watching most of them and realized my bride, and both my daughters had taken up sun-bathing, leaving me with the kids in the pool. I called time out and herded the entire troupe to their mothers. Sun-bathing time was over.
One of the joys for me in all this is the cooking. We had everything from shrimp/pasta in foil to grilled chicken to a dish my daughter calls "pretzel chicken". We are terrible at judging food quantities, so the last night we had left overs and cleared out a surprising number of containers. But the cooking and the grocery shopping and the sharing of cooking ideas with my eldest daughter is joy that I hold close.
It was a week of laughter, meltdowns, sniffling noses, dirty diapers, damp towels and warm memories. I think we value the bond of family when we see them only occasionally. It reminds us that friends are great, but family is eternal. For a week a year, I get to talk to Eli about his life. I get to sing and act surprised by the princess called Phoebe. I get to enjoy the mischievous humor of sturdy little Lincoln. I get to be startled and delighted by the wit and song of Isaac. I get to experience the growing relationship with wide-eyed Lola. I get to begin the games of life with serious little Abby. And of course I get to bask again in the contentment and the pride of my girls, Jordan, Carrie, and Sarah.
And there was one moment last night when my bride and I hugged in the middle of the living room. We sort of leaned against each other in contented fatigue, but I held the woman who has made all this reward possible for me. She may be the best part of cousin's camp. Then she said, "BREAK!" The moments were not over.
Godspeed to those who have the chance to gather the group, the original recipe and all the great flavors added in. It is a dish that tastes better as the years slip by.
Don
Our ten-year-old grandson is the ringleader for the three boys. The 3+-year-old and the just turned 3-year-old adore him and follow him around like puppies. One night Lincoln, our 3+ spent the night and apparently tried to talk his way to sunlight. Eli, the 10 year old asked his Nena for some help getting Lincoln to hush long enough for all to sleep. I think it worked, both seemed pretty well rested the next day.
I have a sore muscle in my neck from trying to watch 2 little girls who can not swim step off the side of the pool with no regard to water depth, to Isaac, our newly minted 3-yr-old who while wearing floaties still makes me nervous, and Lincoln, who just took swim lessons has more confidence than expertise. My head was on a swivel the entire time. I will say at one point I was watching most of them and realized my bride, and both my daughters had taken up sun-bathing, leaving me with the kids in the pool. I called time out and herded the entire troupe to their mothers. Sun-bathing time was over.
One of the joys for me in all this is the cooking. We had everything from shrimp/pasta in foil to grilled chicken to a dish my daughter calls "pretzel chicken". We are terrible at judging food quantities, so the last night we had left overs and cleared out a surprising number of containers. But the cooking and the grocery shopping and the sharing of cooking ideas with my eldest daughter is joy that I hold close.
It was a week of laughter, meltdowns, sniffling noses, dirty diapers, damp towels and warm memories. I think we value the bond of family when we see them only occasionally. It reminds us that friends are great, but family is eternal. For a week a year, I get to talk to Eli about his life. I get to sing and act surprised by the princess called Phoebe. I get to enjoy the mischievous humor of sturdy little Lincoln. I get to be startled and delighted by the wit and song of Isaac. I get to experience the growing relationship with wide-eyed Lola. I get to begin the games of life with serious little Abby. And of course I get to bask again in the contentment and the pride of my girls, Jordan, Carrie, and Sarah.
And there was one moment last night when my bride and I hugged in the middle of the living room. We sort of leaned against each other in contented fatigue, but I held the woman who has made all this reward possible for me. She may be the best part of cousin's camp. Then she said, "BREAK!" The moments were not over.
Godspeed to those who have the chance to gather the group, the original recipe and all the great flavors added in. It is a dish that tastes better as the years slip by.
Don
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Hero
There have been a lot of men over the years whom I have admired, who mentored me in various ways, who counseled me in the ways of work and church and life. These guys come and go, they make mistakes, they show up for a time, then settle away from me. But there is only one guy that I view simply as a hero..my hero. My dad embodies all the things I wish I were.
I'm sure you have sketches in your head about dads and what they ought to look like; perhaps strong, or smart, or clever, or earth-shakers. My dad is some of these, but not all. My best description would be that he is a simple, unassuming, accommodating, funny, caring, active guy. But the basis for my hero worship lies in a few of the things that this world does not value much anymore.
In my years in business and church and neighborhood I have never met a man with more integrity. I have never known him to lie, or cheat , or speak ill of anyone, even when the circumstances would have warranted it. My sister disappeared for over 5 years with her kids, there was a feud between her and her in-laws. The in-laws were in the same town as my dad, attended the same church, knew all the same people. For five years my dad listened to the gossip and the constant questions, and the speculation about all the terrible things his daughter had done. I experienced a small fraction of that inspection and speculation and was annoyed. My dad heard all the rumors, was constantly bombarded with questions and probing speculation, was called names, and he said not one word. Not one word about my sister, not one word about her in-laws, not one word about the situation. His integrity would not allow him to enter the fray. He took all the blows about his only daughter with grace and perseverance. He would not be drawn down to the level of those around him. I learned a great deal about not moving to someone else's level during those five years. He is my hero.
1982 was the year my mother died. I remember in the last days in the pain that had overwhelmed her, Dad bending over her to comfort her in the hospital bed and knowing the end was only moments or days away deeply wishing there was another answer. But the family meeting with my siblings and my dad and the doctors explaining all the choices was a pivotal moment. And I remember my dad cutting them short and telling them that we were not going to make this pain last longer than what God intended. There would be no heroic measures. To see the courage and love there to make the right decision, to let mom go on, to know the end would reshape his world and ours was a lesson I will never forget. Courage in the face of personal loss is true courage. He is my hero.
In the 1970's Dad started one of the first bus ministries in our town. He did all the recruiting, he raised the money, he went to the bus auctions, he canvassed the low income neighborhoods looking for kids who needed a moment in church. He did not make announcements from the pulpit, he did not go to the elders asking their support or help. He just did it. And he did it with great humor and fun. Every Saturday morning we would go to these neighborhoods and ask the parents if they could ride and to look for the big, blue bus. So for years this ministry picked up kids no one else wanted, brought them to church, and fed them along the way, and saved a few from a pointless future. One of the kids went on the manage the ACU bookstore, others went into ministry. At one point the church had several services and a tight timeline. One of the "bus kids" wanted to be baptized, but the leadership decided to do it after the last service because it would disrupt the timing of the assemblies. My dad cornered two of the decision-makers and told them they would not have made the same decision if the child in question had been one of theirs. They apologized the next Sunday..publicly. Dad took no joy in the confrontation and no satisfaction in the apology. He simply stood up for one who could not. He is my hero.
These are only a few of the stories I can recall where he approached life from a perspective of intergrity, compassion, and honesty. The list goes on. He is 91, and can't hear very well, his hip is bothering him on his 10 block walk everyday, and he can't remember all the grandkids names, certainly can't the great-grandkids. But I call 2-3 times a week and he is always the same funny guy.He is always interested in my travels and always makes me feel that the call meant everything to him. He is my hero.
Godspeed, Dad, I love you, You are my HERO.
Don
I'm sure you have sketches in your head about dads and what they ought to look like; perhaps strong, or smart, or clever, or earth-shakers. My dad is some of these, but not all. My best description would be that he is a simple, unassuming, accommodating, funny, caring, active guy. But the basis for my hero worship lies in a few of the things that this world does not value much anymore.
In my years in business and church and neighborhood I have never met a man with more integrity. I have never known him to lie, or cheat , or speak ill of anyone, even when the circumstances would have warranted it. My sister disappeared for over 5 years with her kids, there was a feud between her and her in-laws. The in-laws were in the same town as my dad, attended the same church, knew all the same people. For five years my dad listened to the gossip and the constant questions, and the speculation about all the terrible things his daughter had done. I experienced a small fraction of that inspection and speculation and was annoyed. My dad heard all the rumors, was constantly bombarded with questions and probing speculation, was called names, and he said not one word. Not one word about my sister, not one word about her in-laws, not one word about the situation. His integrity would not allow him to enter the fray. He took all the blows about his only daughter with grace and perseverance. He would not be drawn down to the level of those around him. I learned a great deal about not moving to someone else's level during those five years. He is my hero.
1982 was the year my mother died. I remember in the last days in the pain that had overwhelmed her, Dad bending over her to comfort her in the hospital bed and knowing the end was only moments or days away deeply wishing there was another answer. But the family meeting with my siblings and my dad and the doctors explaining all the choices was a pivotal moment. And I remember my dad cutting them short and telling them that we were not going to make this pain last longer than what God intended. There would be no heroic measures. To see the courage and love there to make the right decision, to let mom go on, to know the end would reshape his world and ours was a lesson I will never forget. Courage in the face of personal loss is true courage. He is my hero.
In the 1970's Dad started one of the first bus ministries in our town. He did all the recruiting, he raised the money, he went to the bus auctions, he canvassed the low income neighborhoods looking for kids who needed a moment in church. He did not make announcements from the pulpit, he did not go to the elders asking their support or help. He just did it. And he did it with great humor and fun. Every Saturday morning we would go to these neighborhoods and ask the parents if they could ride and to look for the big, blue bus. So for years this ministry picked up kids no one else wanted, brought them to church, and fed them along the way, and saved a few from a pointless future. One of the kids went on the manage the ACU bookstore, others went into ministry. At one point the church had several services and a tight timeline. One of the "bus kids" wanted to be baptized, but the leadership decided to do it after the last service because it would disrupt the timing of the assemblies. My dad cornered two of the decision-makers and told them they would not have made the same decision if the child in question had been one of theirs. They apologized the next Sunday..publicly. Dad took no joy in the confrontation and no satisfaction in the apology. He simply stood up for one who could not. He is my hero.
These are only a few of the stories I can recall where he approached life from a perspective of intergrity, compassion, and honesty. The list goes on. He is 91, and can't hear very well, his hip is bothering him on his 10 block walk everyday, and he can't remember all the grandkids names, certainly can't the great-grandkids. But I call 2-3 times a week and he is always the same funny guy.He is always interested in my travels and always makes me feel that the call meant everything to him. He is my hero.
Godspeed, Dad, I love you, You are my HERO.
Don
Friday, June 14, 2013
June Convergence
It just occurred to me that the first half of June is the perfect alignment of three birthdays. My dad was born June 12, my son on June 4, and my eldest grandson on June 10. Each of these guys have created enormous reservoirs of memories, attitudes, and perceptions.
This past weekend we trekked to Amarillo for my eldest grandson's birthday. He was the magical age of ten. It is a world of baseball, soft-air guns, fart jokes, and a need to be recognized. We were able to watch 2 baseball games (of the seven he played, we didn't go out until Sunday), participate in a birthday party where every game my daughter tried to implement became a game of dodge ball, and watch Enchanted with the entire McCall tribe and Eli curled up next to me on the love seat. We split time between the movie and figuring out how to get the scope on his air-soft rifle. Princess and accuracy, this is the stuff of a ten-year-old's world. It is a magical time. Old enough to do most things for himself, no girls yet to unsettle the universe, and a single thin thread back to the little boy world that he is leaving at light speed. He is growing up. There will be some years in the near future where being with Grandaddy will be a drag, but right now he enjoys it and I crave it. So on this June 10, it was a great moment.
On June 4, I was traveling from one spot to another, in and out of airports, juggling appointments and people. But I woke up thinking about my son born 33 years ago. I knew I wouldn't see him for another week or so, but I wanted him to know that I was thinking about him. So I sent him a text. Short, but heartfelt. He has surpassed what I spent years praying about. So what do you say? I told him I was proud of him. I know that his mother did the heavy lifting. I know he brought a sensitive intelligence into this world with him. I know he was formed and shaped by a God that loves us all. But at some level he is still a product of my influence. We are not alike in personality or looks. He is quiet, an introvert. I am, well..not. He is long and slender. I am, again..not. But we share some traits. He loves his wife and will do anything for her. My bride occupies the center of my world. He works hard and will work in a job he may not be thrilled with, but will grind through it because he cares deeply for those it allows provision. I have spent some long years working in jobs I did not care for because it was more important to provide than to be content. He loves God and asks hard questions and refuses to accept easy answers. I am convinced this is a good thing and it mirrors my life. So in this age of technology I sent a short text that I hoped conveyed all the years of love and pride. This is a new age.
On June 12 I could have sent a text to my dad, but it would still be sitting there unread. It could be because he doesn't know how to answer the text, or it could be because he lost his cell phone again. Either way, it just seemed easier to call him. There is a blog waiting for publication two days from now and I will go more into his life at that moment. But to sum it, there is not another man in THIS world that I would rather be like than him. I will fill that out more later.
80 years of life, from Dad to me to Ben to Eli. I find great comfort in that line up. Godly men, who care for those around them, who will fight when need be, who do not back down. Not a bad heritage. I love each of them in a very special way.
Godspeed to those who find themselves in the wonderful moment of getting to live and love all the generations. It is a moment in time and gone in a flash. But it is a great moment. And I am thankful.
Don
This past weekend we trekked to Amarillo for my eldest grandson's birthday. He was the magical age of ten. It is a world of baseball, soft-air guns, fart jokes, and a need to be recognized. We were able to watch 2 baseball games (of the seven he played, we didn't go out until Sunday), participate in a birthday party where every game my daughter tried to implement became a game of dodge ball, and watch Enchanted with the entire McCall tribe and Eli curled up next to me on the love seat. We split time between the movie and figuring out how to get the scope on his air-soft rifle. Princess and accuracy, this is the stuff of a ten-year-old's world. It is a magical time. Old enough to do most things for himself, no girls yet to unsettle the universe, and a single thin thread back to the little boy world that he is leaving at light speed. He is growing up. There will be some years in the near future where being with Grandaddy will be a drag, but right now he enjoys it and I crave it. So on this June 10, it was a great moment.
On June 4, I was traveling from one spot to another, in and out of airports, juggling appointments and people. But I woke up thinking about my son born 33 years ago. I knew I wouldn't see him for another week or so, but I wanted him to know that I was thinking about him. So I sent him a text. Short, but heartfelt. He has surpassed what I spent years praying about. So what do you say? I told him I was proud of him. I know that his mother did the heavy lifting. I know he brought a sensitive intelligence into this world with him. I know he was formed and shaped by a God that loves us all. But at some level he is still a product of my influence. We are not alike in personality or looks. He is quiet, an introvert. I am, well..not. He is long and slender. I am, again..not. But we share some traits. He loves his wife and will do anything for her. My bride occupies the center of my world. He works hard and will work in a job he may not be thrilled with, but will grind through it because he cares deeply for those it allows provision. I have spent some long years working in jobs I did not care for because it was more important to provide than to be content. He loves God and asks hard questions and refuses to accept easy answers. I am convinced this is a good thing and it mirrors my life. So in this age of technology I sent a short text that I hoped conveyed all the years of love and pride. This is a new age.
On June 12 I could have sent a text to my dad, but it would still be sitting there unread. It could be because he doesn't know how to answer the text, or it could be because he lost his cell phone again. Either way, it just seemed easier to call him. There is a blog waiting for publication two days from now and I will go more into his life at that moment. But to sum it, there is not another man in THIS world that I would rather be like than him. I will fill that out more later.
80 years of life, from Dad to me to Ben to Eli. I find great comfort in that line up. Godly men, who care for those around them, who will fight when need be, who do not back down. Not a bad heritage. I love each of them in a very special way.
Godspeed to those who find themselves in the wonderful moment of getting to live and love all the generations. It is a moment in time and gone in a flash. But it is a great moment. And I am thankful.
Don
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