Uncle Ken and Aunt Anna. These words have been said thousands of times on my bride's family. They simply go together, like milk and cookies, peanut butter and jelly. You say one and the other comes right along after it. The family in some ways sort of swirls around these 5 words.
But the Uncle Ken part is now permanently gone from the phrase. He has finally found some rest from the Alzheimer's that has plagued him for the past several years. The insidious thing about Alzheimer's is that it is not a cataclysmic event, or a recognizable battle like cancer which have status markers. No, this one just sort of allows the patient to slowly slip away, almost imperceptibly, but gaining momentum as the disease robs the patient of his memory and his personality and finally his life. His foothold in the river of life gave way. He held out with dignity and quiet courage, robbed in some ways of the final moments, but it won't change the way he stood his ground as long as he could.
Uncle Ken was always a quiet man. Though he would share a laugh and enjoyed the stories. But in my mind's eye the way I remember him is sitting in his chair in the living room, in front of a small TV, with stacks of degree plans around him. I have no idea how many he would complete in an evening, but he kept a steady pace until bedtime. Later, after retirement he would be in the same chair, holding a book or a crossword watching his old movies. Interruptions never seemed to irk him (as they would and do me) and he was always willing to visit, sneaking peeks at the TV while carrying on his end of the conversation. He was not one to argue, and man did his family give him plenty of opportunity. There were times when (a bit of confession here) things seemed a little too settled, I would make a comment sure to set off the fireworks, then step out of the way and watch the show. Uncle Ken didn't seem to have this bit of mischief that seems to be a part of my DNA. No, he was a quiet island in a turbulent sea.
But a new picture is now a part of the story. Uncle Ken was a waist gunner on a B-17 in WWII. This quiet, gentle, English scholar was pitched into the killing fields in the sky over Germany and France, and somehow managed to come home a decent, quiet, gentle, English scholar. This alone is a tribute to his ability to withstand conflict with poise and dignity. So at the graveside, his casket draped with an American flag, a color guard came and played taps, and gently and with great ceremony folded the flag and presented it to Aunt Anna. The essential message was that the President of the United States and the American people say "Thank you" for his service and dedication and sacrifice.
As I reflected on this over the past few days, it occurred to me that funerals are in essence the time and place to say "Thank you" to the ones who have stepped into the great Uncounting. We say thank you for all the good you have done and the memories and the benefits of knowing you. This picture of the Staff Sargent kneeling in front of Aunt Anna sums up the entire day. It is a moment to say to Uncle Ken, I am a better person for knowing you, thank you for that. Our deepest regrets are for the things we didn't do, not the ones we did and I think this is true here. I wish I had spent a moment more and said Thank you to one of our family members who left a lot of good memories and a wealth of good humor and quiet dignity.
There will be more of these events. The river has cleared somewhat in my own stretch of the sandbar. My dad is 92 and while still holding on, the river rages against him. Perhaps I am fooled by my own foothold and with a quick turn and it is I who slides by those who are younger, in a calmer section of the river. Perhaps hearing them whisper or cry "thanks" as I slide by.
It is my resolve to be more appreciative of those ahead of me. They have conquered the same currents I now fight. I also want to be able to help those behind me who need to know what little I have gained. It is important that they understand the need to be grateful. This is a lot from a single mental picture of a soldier presenting a flag to a lady who has lost her companion of 60 years, but I hope this little bit of acknowledgement makes up for the lack of maturity it takes to say "Thank you".
Godspeed, Uncle Ken. You were one of a kind.
Don
Monday, September 22, 2014
Monday, August 18, 2014
We've Added On
For the past 8 months or so we have been planning an addition. These kinds of things take time. It is a process with which we are quite familiar, but seems to be fresh and new each time.
It is not a new room to the house, it is new room in the heart. Chloe Jane Jolly made her appearance Saturday evening and moved into her room into our hearts. She came in at a whopping 6 lbs 11oz, and just a tad over 19 inches, appears to be another blue-eyed blondie which my grandkids seem to run to (only one brown-eyed kid in the bunch). But we are having to really make the room large enough to hold all the hopes and dreams and wishes and prayers and memories. That part is nothing new with 6 other rooms already filling up.
So Saturday night as the last in line (other than the other granddad, who would be there on Sunday) I was handed this little scrunched up bundle. Her little eyebrows sort of knit together in concern, but after a moment she seemed to settle in close. That was when I opened the door and showed her the room made just for her. It still surprises me that each one opens a different door to my heart. Each with their own names and each furnished uniquely for them. But what really surprises me is that this does not become old hat, it is not mundane or routine. It is all at once familiar and new, ancient in some ways and all about the future in others. In one corner were the prayers that have been offered over the past several months. In another corner are stacked the qualities of integrity, compassion, openness, etc. that I hope she will adopt and use. But the main part of the room is open. I can't furnish it until I know her a little better. What will she need? Each one has needed a different set of furniture to make their own. Only by observation and prayer can I pick out the right décor for her room.
But I will tell you this. This little button of girl has already captured me. As my kids will tell you, as my kids-in-law will tell you, as my bride will tell you, I am not the patriarch that stands aloof and direct. I find myself sitting on the floor most of the time at my kids' house, sword fighting, "westling", and oohing over princesses and dollies, throwing baseballs, and sipping from tiny teacups. For the life of me I can't keep the Disney gals separated by name, but I can hum the songs to most of the movies. But it is in these moments that I figure out how to decorate each one's room in the house of my heart.
I have no idea what little Miss Chloe's nature will be. Judging from her parents and her siblings, she will be bright and funny, but will she tend towards her daddy as an artist? or will she be a number-cruncher like her mommy? Will she be intro? or extro? Will song burst from her like her cousin Phoebe? or will she be constantly on the go and full of questions like her cousin Lincoln? Do you see why I wait and let the memories decorate the room? It is in my head that events and people happen around us and to us at a specific time and moment in our lives. It is up to us to grasp the significance of that moment. It is up to us to decorate the room.
Godspeed little miss Chloe. As the book by Billy Crystal says, "I loved you before I knew you"
Grandaddy (Don)
It is not a new room to the house, it is new room in the heart. Chloe Jane Jolly made her appearance Saturday evening and moved into her room into our hearts. She came in at a whopping 6 lbs 11oz, and just a tad over 19 inches, appears to be another blue-eyed blondie which my grandkids seem to run to (only one brown-eyed kid in the bunch). But we are having to really make the room large enough to hold all the hopes and dreams and wishes and prayers and memories. That part is nothing new with 6 other rooms already filling up.
So Saturday night as the last in line (other than the other granddad, who would be there on Sunday) I was handed this little scrunched up bundle. Her little eyebrows sort of knit together in concern, but after a moment she seemed to settle in close. That was when I opened the door and showed her the room made just for her. It still surprises me that each one opens a different door to my heart. Each with their own names and each furnished uniquely for them. But what really surprises me is that this does not become old hat, it is not mundane or routine. It is all at once familiar and new, ancient in some ways and all about the future in others. In one corner were the prayers that have been offered over the past several months. In another corner are stacked the qualities of integrity, compassion, openness, etc. that I hope she will adopt and use. But the main part of the room is open. I can't furnish it until I know her a little better. What will she need? Each one has needed a different set of furniture to make their own. Only by observation and prayer can I pick out the right décor for her room.
But I will tell you this. This little button of girl has already captured me. As my kids will tell you, as my kids-in-law will tell you, as my bride will tell you, I am not the patriarch that stands aloof and direct. I find myself sitting on the floor most of the time at my kids' house, sword fighting, "westling", and oohing over princesses and dollies, throwing baseballs, and sipping from tiny teacups. For the life of me I can't keep the Disney gals separated by name, but I can hum the songs to most of the movies. But it is in these moments that I figure out how to decorate each one's room in the house of my heart.
I have no idea what little Miss Chloe's nature will be. Judging from her parents and her siblings, she will be bright and funny, but will she tend towards her daddy as an artist? or will she be a number-cruncher like her mommy? Will she be intro? or extro? Will song burst from her like her cousin Phoebe? or will she be constantly on the go and full of questions like her cousin Lincoln? Do you see why I wait and let the memories decorate the room? It is in my head that events and people happen around us and to us at a specific time and moment in our lives. It is up to us to grasp the significance of that moment. It is up to us to decorate the room.
Godspeed little miss Chloe. As the book by Billy Crystal says, "I loved you before I knew you"
Grandaddy (Don)
Friday, August 15, 2014
Trust
This morning I got up early and drove to the gym to work out. My bride stayed home nursing a surgically repaired shoulder and getting some extra zzz's in as well.
The workout was normal and went out to the car, and turned the key, and someone strangled a cat for a moment before I realized the car had apparently expired and I had listened to the death rattle of the old Blazer.
Well this is new. I don't carry my cell phone to the gym (don't know, so don't ask). The car is dead. And the phone in the gym apparently is wired to the alarm system, so no one can use the phone when the manager is not there. No one in the gym at that hour of the morning. So I sat and pondered my options while cussing out the old Blazer. Then I remembered there was a donut store around the corner in the same shopping center. Does anyone else see the irony in me having to go to the donut store for help after working out?
So I trudged to the store, asked to borrow their phone which turned out to be her personal cell phone (all the directions and prompts were in Spanish) and called my bride on our home phone because I could not remember her cell phone number. After all, it is just a button with her name on the menu, so who memorizes all those numbers? We do not use our home phone for anything but renting Pay-per-view on cable, and keeping Indian call centers open for telephone solicitation.
My bride did not pick up which is normal. But as I reversed my trudging to the defunct Blazer it occurred to me that there was something of a spiritual parallel here.
She might take a while to get the message, the girl is a world-class sleeper. She may have been in the shower, she could be in the other room making coffee. But I knew she would show up. Why? Because she always has.
You see this is kind of like praying. We shoot a prayer heavenward and hear no response, but we know He will show up. It may not be in the moment that we impatiently want, but he will show up. Because He always has.
The other comfort I had was knowing that if I was gone too long she would come looking for me. I knew she would know the time frame of my journey and when I didn't reappear at the right time, she would get in the truck and drive the route and all the alternative routes until she found me. She always has.
He will do the same. When we don't "show up" for a time, He will come looking for us. He will search every place He knows we hang out in, no matter how disgusting or inconvenient. The reason I know this is because He always has.
It is a marvelous blessing to be able to make a call, leave a message, and live in the full confidence that the one who we trust will show up.
Godspeed, I hope He picks up when you call, but if not, wait until He arrives. It completes the confidence that we know is justified. He always has, He always will.
Don
The workout was normal and went out to the car, and turned the key, and someone strangled a cat for a moment before I realized the car had apparently expired and I had listened to the death rattle of the old Blazer.
Well this is new. I don't carry my cell phone to the gym (don't know, so don't ask). The car is dead. And the phone in the gym apparently is wired to the alarm system, so no one can use the phone when the manager is not there. No one in the gym at that hour of the morning. So I sat and pondered my options while cussing out the old Blazer. Then I remembered there was a donut store around the corner in the same shopping center. Does anyone else see the irony in me having to go to the donut store for help after working out?
So I trudged to the store, asked to borrow their phone which turned out to be her personal cell phone (all the directions and prompts were in Spanish) and called my bride on our home phone because I could not remember her cell phone number. After all, it is just a button with her name on the menu, so who memorizes all those numbers? We do not use our home phone for anything but renting Pay-per-view on cable, and keeping Indian call centers open for telephone solicitation.
My bride did not pick up which is normal. But as I reversed my trudging to the defunct Blazer it occurred to me that there was something of a spiritual parallel here.
She might take a while to get the message, the girl is a world-class sleeper. She may have been in the shower, she could be in the other room making coffee. But I knew she would show up. Why? Because she always has.
You see this is kind of like praying. We shoot a prayer heavenward and hear no response, but we know He will show up. It may not be in the moment that we impatiently want, but he will show up. Because He always has.
The other comfort I had was knowing that if I was gone too long she would come looking for me. I knew she would know the time frame of my journey and when I didn't reappear at the right time, she would get in the truck and drive the route and all the alternative routes until she found me. She always has.
He will do the same. When we don't "show up" for a time, He will come looking for us. He will search every place He knows we hang out in, no matter how disgusting or inconvenient. The reason I know this is because He always has.
It is a marvelous blessing to be able to make a call, leave a message, and live in the full confidence that the one who we trust will show up.
Godspeed, I hope He picks up when you call, but if not, wait until He arrives. It completes the confidence that we know is justified. He always has, He always will.
Don
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Uncertainties, Fears, and Monsters Under the Bed
Several years ago my bride and I were on a road trip to help my eldest daughter move into their new home. On the way we hit a deer in my little Ford Ranger ( this event was chronicled in the blog post "The Deer Slayer" November 3, 2008. Still one of my favorite posts). While we were sitting in the pitch dark of a small west Texas county highway, it reminded us both of how much light and noise we live with every day. As the night drew on and we waited for my brother to come help us, we both began to hear the rustlings and stirrings in the brush around us. I had grown up on a farm and spent most summer nights sleeping outside in the screened in porch and was aware that most of the subtle noise was probably rats or mice and not a threat. However, all these years later and with a bride who was not raised on a farm, the crunching of leaves conjured up far worse threats than a deranged mouse. While the logical mind was convinced these were harmless little night creatures, the imagination mind convinced us that it was a blood thirsty mountain lion grown tired of deer meat and looking for some nice Dallas-fed human flesh. The imagination mind is far more convincing than the logical mind and shouted down all the reasoning and legitimate objections the logical mind could make. Fear triumphed over logic.
When we stop for a moment and evaluate our lives it seems that fear of the uncertainty bullies us like a boss from our nightmares. All the logic in the world will not mitigate the fear that can creep in or slam into us unexpectedly. It seems we let the fear run unchecked in all directions and our imagination kicks in with all sorts of dire consequences. In the end it robs us of the ability to move forward with confidence and exuberance.
And this is a portion of every part of our lives. Work place hassles and uncertainties can cause us to make conservative decisions that limit the scope of possibilities. The possibility of loss or narrowed results make us even more apt to make decisions that limit and constrain us. Perhaps the fear surrounds our health or the health of a loved one. We lose the power to live according to our expectations because the world has closed in a bit. Or perhaps it is the fear of loss of friends or influence or connection or significance that drives us into a well-crafted shell to minimize loss, and like someone who lives the life of the miser because they can't imagine the losing the baubles they have instead of reaching the riches within our grasp.
Fear is a bully. Fear uses the uncertainties against us. I do not care for bullies. They rob us of the joy that our lives are supposed to be built on. As most of you know, my worldview is a fairly traditional Christian view. It has been (although the culture is changing) anathema to mention uncertainties, to vocalize fear, to speak out and say that we are afraid. My brother compiled a book called "Do Not Be Afraid" and I made contributions to that book. I think when scripture encourages us to not be afraid it is really saying, "Don't let the fear bully you." We all live with fear. We all have uncertainties, we all wonder what is scratching around outside, we all wonder about the monsters under the bed. But somewhere out there is the answer to the fear. At some point we have to live our lives like we have nothing to lose. We are the only ones who can defy the bully and live as we were intended.
Godspeed to the fearful. We are the bully beaters.
Don
When we stop for a moment and evaluate our lives it seems that fear of the uncertainty bullies us like a boss from our nightmares. All the logic in the world will not mitigate the fear that can creep in or slam into us unexpectedly. It seems we let the fear run unchecked in all directions and our imagination kicks in with all sorts of dire consequences. In the end it robs us of the ability to move forward with confidence and exuberance.
And this is a portion of every part of our lives. Work place hassles and uncertainties can cause us to make conservative decisions that limit the scope of possibilities. The possibility of loss or narrowed results make us even more apt to make decisions that limit and constrain us. Perhaps the fear surrounds our health or the health of a loved one. We lose the power to live according to our expectations because the world has closed in a bit. Or perhaps it is the fear of loss of friends or influence or connection or significance that drives us into a well-crafted shell to minimize loss, and like someone who lives the life of the miser because they can't imagine the losing the baubles they have instead of reaching the riches within our grasp.
Fear is a bully. Fear uses the uncertainties against us. I do not care for bullies. They rob us of the joy that our lives are supposed to be built on. As most of you know, my worldview is a fairly traditional Christian view. It has been (although the culture is changing) anathema to mention uncertainties, to vocalize fear, to speak out and say that we are afraid. My brother compiled a book called "Do Not Be Afraid" and I made contributions to that book. I think when scripture encourages us to not be afraid it is really saying, "Don't let the fear bully you." We all live with fear. We all have uncertainties, we all wonder what is scratching around outside, we all wonder about the monsters under the bed. But somewhere out there is the answer to the fear. At some point we have to live our lives like we have nothing to lose. We are the only ones who can defy the bully and live as we were intended.
Godspeed to the fearful. We are the bully beaters.
Don
Friday, May 23, 2014
A Social Experiment
We have entered into a social experiment. A month or so ago some dear friends of ours put their house on the market and it sold the first weekend. Since that moment they have been in a panic about the next nest, where to sleep and shower in the interim, and the normal spark of dealing with moving all their stuff.
My bride and I asked them to take the upstairs at our house. It is not being used, it is remote from the area where we live, and it is available. With some trepidation on the part of the bride in their equation, they accepted. I hugged them both at church the next time I saw and them and exclaimed how much fun this was going to be! She responded by saying they didn't feel like they had a lot of friends and didn't want to lose the ones they had. We assured her there was no way.
So we spent a weekend moving all their heavy stuff to storage. I told them both they were going to have to get younger friends the next time. I have discovered that my mind remembers being able to lift heavy things all day, but my body has settled into semi-retirement. My training in college for packing into a truck has not been lost, so I spent most of my time working the puzzle of filling every little nook and cranny on the truck to get as much as possible. Showed their s-I-l the "mover's" knot and generally had a good time. Associate ministers everywhere listen to me, if you want a dynamic men's ministry just make sure they sweat. It can be play or work, but when men sweat together they share and discuss and bond. Prayer meetings and weekend retreats don't work, but put a shovel or a ball in their hands and you have the groundwork for a long lasting ministry.
Another week afterwards this couple spent every night getting their small stuff in storage and finally moved in upstairs.
Here is what I discovered:
1. We all work, so the schedules are dictated by drive time, on time at work, and natural sleep patterns. We discovered that they apparently live on pacific time and we are eastern time zone folks.
My bride and I wake up at 4:30 to work out, they umm, do not. At 9:15PM my lights go out, both figuratively and literally. I'm done, cooked. I don't know what time is lights out for them, but I know they don't roll out at 4:30.
2. Meals for us during the week, particularly breakfast are catch-as-catch-can. I usually have a yogurt and coffee, not sure what anyone else has. Dinners are a bit tricky and has created the most communication. Who is going to be where is the constant theme. We have ended up with some interesting left-overs. But everyone seems to be getting enough nourishment.
3. It is kind of nice to have a visit in the late evenings. To realize we share some of the same communication issues and letting the unwinding work.
4. We do not share the same interests in TV programming. They are both musically and dramatically inclined and like the "English" shows. I like good humorous writing, don't care for much on TV right now, so normally I snooze on the couch while they compare programming notes with my bride.
5. I can't set the sprinkler system to avoid everyone's schedule, so I opted to get me a little damp, keep my bride dry, and hope they can run the gauntlet to their cars. Sorry, I have priorities. Happy wife, happy life.
6. It seems to be working. I'm sure they aren't creating any stress for my bride that I don't already create. They sure aren't creating any stress for me. Not sure how the whispered conversations are going upstairs, but really how bad could it be?
It is an experiment that is going well. Not sure why there was any trepidation. We are all adults, we all enjoy a lot of the same things, we all want the same things. And at the end of the day, isn't this what our professed faith is all about? helping, getting along, sharing, making a spot? My only regret is that I seem far more hesitant to do something like this on a more frequent basis. These are good, solid, hard-working, funny people, which makes this easy. But what is it in my nature that still runs those who need something through a filter? I remember having these same questions when we worked to renovate and furnish 40 apartments for refugees from New Orleans after Katrina. I learned to ignore the filter, but it seems somewhere along the line it seems to slip into place again. We feel that our charity should have criteria, when in reality it should be just a small portion of the charity needed in this world, without the impediment of my filtration system.
Godspeed to the displaced, and for our little set of displaced, Clark and Rebecca, you are far from wearing out your welcome.
Don
My bride and I asked them to take the upstairs at our house. It is not being used, it is remote from the area where we live, and it is available. With some trepidation on the part of the bride in their equation, they accepted. I hugged them both at church the next time I saw and them and exclaimed how much fun this was going to be! She responded by saying they didn't feel like they had a lot of friends and didn't want to lose the ones they had. We assured her there was no way.
So we spent a weekend moving all their heavy stuff to storage. I told them both they were going to have to get younger friends the next time. I have discovered that my mind remembers being able to lift heavy things all day, but my body has settled into semi-retirement. My training in college for packing into a truck has not been lost, so I spent most of my time working the puzzle of filling every little nook and cranny on the truck to get as much as possible. Showed their s-I-l the "mover's" knot and generally had a good time. Associate ministers everywhere listen to me, if you want a dynamic men's ministry just make sure they sweat. It can be play or work, but when men sweat together they share and discuss and bond. Prayer meetings and weekend retreats don't work, but put a shovel or a ball in their hands and you have the groundwork for a long lasting ministry.
Another week afterwards this couple spent every night getting their small stuff in storage and finally moved in upstairs.
Here is what I discovered:
1. We all work, so the schedules are dictated by drive time, on time at work, and natural sleep patterns. We discovered that they apparently live on pacific time and we are eastern time zone folks.
My bride and I wake up at 4:30 to work out, they umm, do not. At 9:15PM my lights go out, both figuratively and literally. I'm done, cooked. I don't know what time is lights out for them, but I know they don't roll out at 4:30.
2. Meals for us during the week, particularly breakfast are catch-as-catch-can. I usually have a yogurt and coffee, not sure what anyone else has. Dinners are a bit tricky and has created the most communication. Who is going to be where is the constant theme. We have ended up with some interesting left-overs. But everyone seems to be getting enough nourishment.
3. It is kind of nice to have a visit in the late evenings. To realize we share some of the same communication issues and letting the unwinding work.
4. We do not share the same interests in TV programming. They are both musically and dramatically inclined and like the "English" shows. I like good humorous writing, don't care for much on TV right now, so normally I snooze on the couch while they compare programming notes with my bride.
5. I can't set the sprinkler system to avoid everyone's schedule, so I opted to get me a little damp, keep my bride dry, and hope they can run the gauntlet to their cars. Sorry, I have priorities. Happy wife, happy life.
6. It seems to be working. I'm sure they aren't creating any stress for my bride that I don't already create. They sure aren't creating any stress for me. Not sure how the whispered conversations are going upstairs, but really how bad could it be?
It is an experiment that is going well. Not sure why there was any trepidation. We are all adults, we all enjoy a lot of the same things, we all want the same things. And at the end of the day, isn't this what our professed faith is all about? helping, getting along, sharing, making a spot? My only regret is that I seem far more hesitant to do something like this on a more frequent basis. These are good, solid, hard-working, funny people, which makes this easy. But what is it in my nature that still runs those who need something through a filter? I remember having these same questions when we worked to renovate and furnish 40 apartments for refugees from New Orleans after Katrina. I learned to ignore the filter, but it seems somewhere along the line it seems to slip into place again. We feel that our charity should have criteria, when in reality it should be just a small portion of the charity needed in this world, without the impediment of my filtration system.
Godspeed to the displaced, and for our little set of displaced, Clark and Rebecca, you are far from wearing out your welcome.
Don
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Old Friends
There are people in our lives that we spend a great deal of time with, then move apart, and it never really returns to the same level of closeness. We may even have family that falls into that category. As the time passed they, or us, have changed. Their habits seem odd and their life choices don't resonate at all. In those times I wonder who changed? Could I have predicted this shift all those years ago? Do we seem as odd to them as they do to us? The path diverged, perhaps only a fraction of a degree, but in the intervening years this divergence has created a gulf that will probably never be bridged. Facebook has accentuated this phenomenon. As I read of others lives and habits and hobbies I realize I don't know these people anymore. There isn't any way to connect the dots, they are simply too far apart. And as I take inventory of all the people who have wandered into and out of my life, it occurs to me that most of the people I have known fall into this category whether we were friends in elementary school, high school, college, young marrieds, or somewhere in between. We shared a moment of life, then moved on and the path only randomly reconnects. What disturbs me the most about this is if I am dreadfully honest, it simply does not bother me all that much. Which creates a low grade alarm within my psyche and surfaces the question (again) "What is wrong with me?"
But there are other people that seem to find their homes permanently in my heart. They may have entered my life 40-50 years ago, we don't see each other all that often, we don't call or email or go out of our way to communicate. But when we reconvene the friendship it is like no time has passed. The connection is instantaneous and it is as solid as it was all that time ago. The father of just one of those types of friends told us as a group this very thing 40 years ago, and he was right.
This past weekend we enjoyed another one of those moments. We had a lovely dinner, we drank some really nice wine, and we talked and talked and laughed and laughed. We shared war stories about our kids. We commiserated about our uncertainty about what to do with the "second half" of our lives. The jokes were old and seemed new. The concern over recent health scares was deep and distressing. My old friend's wife shared some of her recent struggles with the fall out from breast cancer and in describing some of the effects and trauma, she looked at me and made a comment about me not being comfortable with the details of the struggles. I always come up with the perfect thing to say about two weeks after the moment, but I wanted to tell her that my distress was not embarrassment over hearing about her physical struggles, but my distress had everything to do with feeling helpless to render any words of comfort or relief. It is my belief that by the age of 60 there is little to be embarrassed about. We have all had enough procedures to make us painfully aware that these bodies are falling apart, slow for some, quick for others, but inevitable for all. So once again my inability to speak plainly about my empathy was a clear indication of my slow-wittedness, rather than any sense of propriety.
But here is my take on this certain feature of our lives. I think the thing that I fear the most is outliving all my old friends. As I look out in concentric circles from my bride to our close current friends to our older friends to my childhood friends, what happens if they are all gone and I am left here with no one to "remember" with? My dad is 91, closing in on 92. He has no siblings left, my mother has been gone for 30 years, fortunately his current wife is still with him. But as I write this, all the friends that I remember him having when I was growing up are all gone. How does that compute with him? How does he look around and share the 9 decades with a group of people who have no idea what he is talking about? I don't necessarily want to be the first to go out of my group (although the crowd would be better at the funeral, half missing me, half making sure I'm gone) but I fear being the only one left. Our old friends are the life library that we can wander through and check out the books of our memories. These books of memories are stored in our shared lives.
This does give me great anticipation for the great uncounting. I hope we are able to recall our friends and the warm memories they bring. What good is this life if we remember nothing of it in the next? I am hoping that me and Fry and Wray can laugh in our next life about the nuttiness of this one. Do the Houston days with Hunters and Halls and Martins mean nothing in the bigger scope of eternity? It is my sincere hope that the Dillards and Hackneys and the Jollys can all remember the songs in the capitol building and the "crab award". Why should it be a requirement that these do not get to go with us? To some large extent, if the creator finds worth in my life enough to let me squeeze in, won't my admission be in part because of the goodness of these friends and these memories?
So we got to enjoy a moment with old friends, tried and true friends, always friends.
Godspeed to all the friends out there. Friends are there to create the moments that teach us to cherish time. They mark our days and push back the nights.
Don
But there are other people that seem to find their homes permanently in my heart. They may have entered my life 40-50 years ago, we don't see each other all that often, we don't call or email or go out of our way to communicate. But when we reconvene the friendship it is like no time has passed. The connection is instantaneous and it is as solid as it was all that time ago. The father of just one of those types of friends told us as a group this very thing 40 years ago, and he was right.
This past weekend we enjoyed another one of those moments. We had a lovely dinner, we drank some really nice wine, and we talked and talked and laughed and laughed. We shared war stories about our kids. We commiserated about our uncertainty about what to do with the "second half" of our lives. The jokes were old and seemed new. The concern over recent health scares was deep and distressing. My old friend's wife shared some of her recent struggles with the fall out from breast cancer and in describing some of the effects and trauma, she looked at me and made a comment about me not being comfortable with the details of the struggles. I always come up with the perfect thing to say about two weeks after the moment, but I wanted to tell her that my distress was not embarrassment over hearing about her physical struggles, but my distress had everything to do with feeling helpless to render any words of comfort or relief. It is my belief that by the age of 60 there is little to be embarrassed about. We have all had enough procedures to make us painfully aware that these bodies are falling apart, slow for some, quick for others, but inevitable for all. So once again my inability to speak plainly about my empathy was a clear indication of my slow-wittedness, rather than any sense of propriety.
But here is my take on this certain feature of our lives. I think the thing that I fear the most is outliving all my old friends. As I look out in concentric circles from my bride to our close current friends to our older friends to my childhood friends, what happens if they are all gone and I am left here with no one to "remember" with? My dad is 91, closing in on 92. He has no siblings left, my mother has been gone for 30 years, fortunately his current wife is still with him. But as I write this, all the friends that I remember him having when I was growing up are all gone. How does that compute with him? How does he look around and share the 9 decades with a group of people who have no idea what he is talking about? I don't necessarily want to be the first to go out of my group (although the crowd would be better at the funeral, half missing me, half making sure I'm gone) but I fear being the only one left. Our old friends are the life library that we can wander through and check out the books of our memories. These books of memories are stored in our shared lives.
This does give me great anticipation for the great uncounting. I hope we are able to recall our friends and the warm memories they bring. What good is this life if we remember nothing of it in the next? I am hoping that me and Fry and Wray can laugh in our next life about the nuttiness of this one. Do the Houston days with Hunters and Halls and Martins mean nothing in the bigger scope of eternity? It is my sincere hope that the Dillards and Hackneys and the Jollys can all remember the songs in the capitol building and the "crab award". Why should it be a requirement that these do not get to go with us? To some large extent, if the creator finds worth in my life enough to let me squeeze in, won't my admission be in part because of the goodness of these friends and these memories?
So we got to enjoy a moment with old friends, tried and true friends, always friends.
Godspeed to all the friends out there. Friends are there to create the moments that teach us to cherish time. They mark our days and push back the nights.
Don
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Nothing Can Wash Away My Sin..
It seems most Sundays I find myself on the praise team at church for early service. The coordinator switches me from tenor to bass, depending on what she needs at the moment. I think I am one of the few guys that can sing either moderately well, but not excel at either one. But I do enjoy the camaraderie and the moment to sing with a group of folks who all enjoy the music and each other. The group assembles a few at a time and it seems there is a certain amount of visiting that goes on while the mikes are tested and sound is mixed, etc. However, I like to sing. So this past Sunday I insisted we all warm up on a few of my favorites ( I sang tenor, so I pushed for a couple of songs that had really fun tenor parts) The song that jumped to my mind was a simple little song, with simple words, and a really fun tenor line.
Nothing can wash away my sin.
Nothing can wash away my sin.
Nothing can wash away my sin.
Nothing..nothing...nothing but the blood of Jesus.
The verses shift to:
Nothing can bring me peace with God.
and so on.
For the last two days I have reflected on the significance of my disciplines that do not spend a lot of time surrounding the reality of the words in the song. By the way, I believe all the words of this simple little song, but somewhere along the line I have come to grips with the fact that "sin management" is not the intent of the mission. Sin management requires that we look back to a time when sin governed all that I did and said. It no longer has that kind of sway over my life. Of course I still sin, of course I still seek to make my own way, of course I forge ahead without the guidance and will of the Creator. But sin no longer has the ability to undermine my hard fought faith. My sin disappoints me, it slows me down, it defeats me with regularity, but it does not cause me to dwell on its' significance. It has been defeated, washed away as the song says by an event 2000 yeas ago. Why dwell on it? Sin no longer holds my fascination. The focus now is on relationship.
When I lived on the farm years ago. We had to move irrigation pipe, marching from one side of the pasture to the other in 40' increments. On the numerous occasions I had to handle this chore alone, I had to line up the pipe in 20 or 30 separate segments. Which meant unhooking from the pipe ahead and carrying this 30' piece of pipe across 40' and re-hooking to the one ahead of it in line. If I looked back at the previous pipe just set in position and determine if the entire line was straight, I would end up with a crooked mess that would make a snake envious. But if I picked a point at the end of the pasture that was roughly 40' from the end pipe, the line was straight and true. I had to line it up with where I was going, not where I had been.
When we continue to dwell on the sins of the past we end up wandering all around in our lives and never really putting down a pipeline that is straight and true. I am not sure why so many preachers focus on this single topic, except that it surfaces guilt and guilt surfaces response. But it inhibits true spiritual growth.
The focus, the aim of the pipeline is relationship. When we look to simply forge the most direct line to Jesus or the Creator, or whatever term you find comfortable, we focus forward. We look to the future of what this relationship can and should look like. We become free to live a life of hope and purpose and mission. This future then becomes the "peace with God" this simple little song sings about.
Godspeed, not sure why this has been on my mind, but there it is.
Don
Nothing can wash away my sin.
Nothing can wash away my sin.
Nothing can wash away my sin.
Nothing..nothing...nothing but the blood of Jesus.
The verses shift to:
Nothing can bring me peace with God.
and so on.
For the last two days I have reflected on the significance of my disciplines that do not spend a lot of time surrounding the reality of the words in the song. By the way, I believe all the words of this simple little song, but somewhere along the line I have come to grips with the fact that "sin management" is not the intent of the mission. Sin management requires that we look back to a time when sin governed all that I did and said. It no longer has that kind of sway over my life. Of course I still sin, of course I still seek to make my own way, of course I forge ahead without the guidance and will of the Creator. But sin no longer has the ability to undermine my hard fought faith. My sin disappoints me, it slows me down, it defeats me with regularity, but it does not cause me to dwell on its' significance. It has been defeated, washed away as the song says by an event 2000 yeas ago. Why dwell on it? Sin no longer holds my fascination. The focus now is on relationship.
When I lived on the farm years ago. We had to move irrigation pipe, marching from one side of the pasture to the other in 40' increments. On the numerous occasions I had to handle this chore alone, I had to line up the pipe in 20 or 30 separate segments. Which meant unhooking from the pipe ahead and carrying this 30' piece of pipe across 40' and re-hooking to the one ahead of it in line. If I looked back at the previous pipe just set in position and determine if the entire line was straight, I would end up with a crooked mess that would make a snake envious. But if I picked a point at the end of the pasture that was roughly 40' from the end pipe, the line was straight and true. I had to line it up with where I was going, not where I had been.
When we continue to dwell on the sins of the past we end up wandering all around in our lives and never really putting down a pipeline that is straight and true. I am not sure why so many preachers focus on this single topic, except that it surfaces guilt and guilt surfaces response. But it inhibits true spiritual growth.
The focus, the aim of the pipeline is relationship. When we look to simply forge the most direct line to Jesus or the Creator, or whatever term you find comfortable, we focus forward. We look to the future of what this relationship can and should look like. We become free to live a life of hope and purpose and mission. This future then becomes the "peace with God" this simple little song sings about.
Godspeed, not sure why this has been on my mind, but there it is.
Don
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