Yesterday was an odd day for me. Twenty nine years ago my mother passed away at the age of 57. I turned 57 this past February. It was a day where I wondered what would become of my little tribe if this were to happen to me. The day was also filled with trying to objectively see what I had contributed to the world around me. And the day was spent pondering the arbitrariness of who goes when and how. I tried to stay busy, tried to fill the day working and arranging and shifting around. Anything to put my mind in neutral, but it did little good.
Mom spent the last several months in a wheelchair because the cancer had attacked her bones in the back and hips making mobility almost impossible. The final straw was the liver cancer, which is dreadfully painful. She spent a great deal of time trying to manage between the pain medication and being lucid. It was a harbinger that a few months before my bride and I were married she had a mastectomy to get at the breast cancer. Five years of peace and cancer-free, then the return in the bones and finally the liver. She knew the final fight was over for several months.
She and I visited about all of this and I would find out later that she only remembered some of it. She attempted to teach me even in the last impaired days. She had me read Psalms 116, "I love the Lord because he hears my prayers and answers them.." and then later in the same psalm, "Precious in the eyes of the Lord are the death of His children.." I read this psalm at her funeral, it still strikes so deeply within my soul. A psalm of fear and glory, of overwhelming grief and reassurance, a psalm of trauma and peace. I cannot read this, even now, without tears in my eyes. This single event changed my entire scope of prayer and suffering, salvation and perseverance, it toughened me for the years ahead when I would have to summon all the lessons for the fight against this detestable disease in my daughter.
So in this moment, what do I feel? Well, the pain has subsided. There are events now that I wish she could see, my grandkids, kids-in-law would all make her proud. She would say I have received more than I deserved. It makes me want to hug them all close, to imprint on them my love for them and my love for our gracious God. My youngest never met my mother, my older ones probably don't remember her all that well either. But I want my grandkids to see her through me. My love of self-styled spiritual study came from her. She never went to college, but taught generations of younger women at church. My devotion to things spiritual came from her, she was a spiritually disciplined person long before it became a fad. The 5:30AM study where she drew close to God and through prayer, the rest of us. She was a warrior within the church, cajoling, confronting all who needed a word; a constant pursuer of things spiritual.
I will tell you she was a tough-minded woman. She ran her home with untiring vigilance. I have tried to to imagine what she was like as a mother-in-law, or a grandmother, but nothing comes to mind. Do I share some of this? I am told that I do.
Have I made an impact in the world around me to the same degree that she did? I don't know. I know that I have tried. Will people remember my teaching, or my take on this world? This blog might be some sort of marker. Will my kids laugh when they remember? Will they hold bitterness? I hope not. It is a hope for us all that kids tend to remember the good times and as parents we tend to remember our mistakes.
Anyway, the day has passed. Navel-gazing is done. But the effort always leaves me slightly unsettled.
Godspeed, it is a strange moment for me.
Don
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
200
This is the 200th post since my bride set me up with a blog site. I know some of you are thinking this is probably 199 too many. But this has been a great activity for me. It gives me a place to journal, a place to vent, a place to observe, and a place to share. There have been some posts that I look back on and wonder what I was thinking at the time. There have also been a few that I know what I was thinking, but it makes me wonder why. A few posts have come dangerously close to being deleted, but in the spirit of emotional honesty I let them stand, good or bad, it was what was going on in my head at the time. I never claimed to be consistent.
There have been a few favorites, though. The deer crashing into my truck. The news that my son and D-i-L were expecting our precious Isaac, news received in the outback of New Mexico. Most of the posts surrounding Lincoln's birth and surgery.
My insight on life is usually sharpened by trauma. I'm not sure why this is so, but it puts my head in the "God wondering" mode. I have become, by nature, a contemplative, reading and thinking and meditating on the spiritual questions that seem to linger. Discernment (wisdom) is a product of suffering, not sure why, but this seems to be a theme in my writing.
But what astounds me the most is that you folks out there seem to keep coming back. You can't imagine how humbling it is that you continue to read, even when I know the writing is not particularly good or the insights very unique. It has been my stance that I write for me, but it overwhelms me that you read and respond. By the way, I get about as many responses via email as I do on the blog. That's fine, keep me in line, keep me challenged, that is what makes this fun. This post is to those out there who follow and respond, or not, but continue to read. Thank you.
So for a little bit of response. Should I change the way the blog looks? Over two years and the page still looks the same. I love the picture of my bride and my grandson. The metaphor of a journey is still the strongest in my life, so it will stay. Let me know what you think. Also, what were some of your favorites? Most of the folks I talk to just say they don't know what to say, but they tell me when something strikes a chord. I have one dear friend who keeps telling me to write a book...working on it. I did tell her to take all my posts, bind them, and sell the 20 or so copies that would sell and give the money to my bride when I am gone.
Thanks for the venue to write. Thanks especially to my bride for setting this up, it is the highlight of my week when I sit down to write. Thanks to all of you who follow.
Godspeed on this crazy journey we call life.
Don
There have been a few favorites, though. The deer crashing into my truck. The news that my son and D-i-L were expecting our precious Isaac, news received in the outback of New Mexico. Most of the posts surrounding Lincoln's birth and surgery.
My insight on life is usually sharpened by trauma. I'm not sure why this is so, but it puts my head in the "God wondering" mode. I have become, by nature, a contemplative, reading and thinking and meditating on the spiritual questions that seem to linger. Discernment (wisdom) is a product of suffering, not sure why, but this seems to be a theme in my writing.
But what astounds me the most is that you folks out there seem to keep coming back. You can't imagine how humbling it is that you continue to read, even when I know the writing is not particularly good or the insights very unique. It has been my stance that I write for me, but it overwhelms me that you read and respond. By the way, I get about as many responses via email as I do on the blog. That's fine, keep me in line, keep me challenged, that is what makes this fun. This post is to those out there who follow and respond, or not, but continue to read. Thank you.
So for a little bit of response. Should I change the way the blog looks? Over two years and the page still looks the same. I love the picture of my bride and my grandson. The metaphor of a journey is still the strongest in my life, so it will stay. Let me know what you think. Also, what were some of your favorites? Most of the folks I talk to just say they don't know what to say, but they tell me when something strikes a chord. I have one dear friend who keeps telling me to write a book...working on it. I did tell her to take all my posts, bind them, and sell the 20 or so copies that would sell and give the money to my bride when I am gone.
Thanks for the venue to write. Thanks especially to my bride for setting this up, it is the highlight of my week when I sit down to write. Thanks to all of you who follow.
Godspeed on this crazy journey we call life.
Don
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Easter Weekend
My eldest daughter and my dad's wife cooked up a visit for all of my clan to meet in Abilene at the farm where I was raised. This is not a small feat. My clan consists of 3 kids, 3 kids-in-law, 4 grandkids and my bride. It can seem like a traveling circus. There is plenty of room at the old place, my youngest daughter spearheaded the food planning, and we were off to the races.
It was a weekend in which I got to enjoy all the people that mean the most to me. As we stood around the dinner table at lunch on Sunday, all holding hands while my dad prayed, it occurred to me that this is the group that I spend most of MY time praying over. This band of 14 covers 4 generations, various life situations, and garners most of the sense of accomplishment that I have in my life.
The really nice thing is that I got to spend some real time with each of my grandkids, specifically getting to bind us closer with each moment.
Eli and I both brought our golf clubs. We play a short par-3 course (however, we seem to only play 8 holes due to an attention span issue) We do not keep score, but we do a lot of negotiating during the round. I have a standing deal with him, if he hits onto the green on his first shot from the tee, I pay him a dollar. The negotiating comes in when he hits it close..not on. So I added a variation. If he one-putts, then he earns another dollar. As soon as we struck that deal he rolled one in from 10' away. Really? Where was the hockey like action from the previous 6 holes?!? Apparently sandbagging is a naturally occurring tendency. But we got to spend a couple of hours just the two of us, walking, playing, laughing..it was the best medicine.
Phoebe coughed all through the night sleeping on her pallet at the foot of my bed. So around midnight I washed off her face and moved her up on the bed with me. Several times I woke up to her wriggling, but asleep. She is a live wire when awake, but she is the sweetest, snuggliest thing when asleep. So when we woke up, it was a very long conversation about Disney princesses, where she has vast knowledge and I have none, but the conversation was great fun.
Lincoln and I explored the barn and shed. We walked down to the edge of the field and looked at the creek. He explored and inspected everything. He is an old man in the way he walks and inspects things which cracks me up. He stands there, little chubby hands hooked in his pockets, head tilted forward just like an old man at a construction site. We walked and talked and explored.
Then I got to hold Isaac during church. We played and chewed on the bulletin, and he would just stare during the song service. Of particular interest was the "prayer card" in the seat back holder. After being chewed and slobbered on his mother took it away from us, not allowing us to put it back in the holder. What is that all about? I'm pretty sure it would dry before next Sunday. He did great in church, probably better than I.
But I spent the weekend trying to soak up time with my dad and the farm. The farm will soon pass from our family and it feels like some part of my family is passing from me. Dad can't handle the work load anymore and they need to move into town. So I spent some portion of every morning and evening looking out across the back fence remembering as many of the times spent there as possible. At the same time I was trying to soak up time with Dad. I wish his integrity and good humor came more naturally to me. Each moment I was wishing that I could reach out my hands and hold back time for just a little while, to hold my memories in place for a moment. But I know that time marches inexorably forward, ignoring my pleas, nudging me along against my will. I want to be able to set my pack to the ground at this moment in my journey, but it seems that there is no place to rest, no place to stop. There was a sense of trying to hold back a stream of water with only my hands..it simply washed over me and rushed on.
The clock keeps ticking. It makes me sad and grateful. Sad that the constant ticking means this world will change in unforgivable ways. Grateful for the memories that make me who I am. We are the sum of our decisions and memories. So I spent as much time with Dad as I could, laughing, kidding each other, just soaking it in. And I split time with my grandkids, imprinting on them memories that will be woven into the fabric of who they will become. Tick, tick ,tick...
Godspeed, the journey is a good one with an inevitable end. But, man, what memories that journey creates.
Don
It was a weekend in which I got to enjoy all the people that mean the most to me. As we stood around the dinner table at lunch on Sunday, all holding hands while my dad prayed, it occurred to me that this is the group that I spend most of MY time praying over. This band of 14 covers 4 generations, various life situations, and garners most of the sense of accomplishment that I have in my life.
The really nice thing is that I got to spend some real time with each of my grandkids, specifically getting to bind us closer with each moment.
Eli and I both brought our golf clubs. We play a short par-3 course (however, we seem to only play 8 holes due to an attention span issue) We do not keep score, but we do a lot of negotiating during the round. I have a standing deal with him, if he hits onto the green on his first shot from the tee, I pay him a dollar. The negotiating comes in when he hits it close..not on. So I added a variation. If he one-putts, then he earns another dollar. As soon as we struck that deal he rolled one in from 10' away. Really? Where was the hockey like action from the previous 6 holes?!? Apparently sandbagging is a naturally occurring tendency. But we got to spend a couple of hours just the two of us, walking, playing, laughing..it was the best medicine.
Phoebe coughed all through the night sleeping on her pallet at the foot of my bed. So around midnight I washed off her face and moved her up on the bed with me. Several times I woke up to her wriggling, but asleep. She is a live wire when awake, but she is the sweetest, snuggliest thing when asleep. So when we woke up, it was a very long conversation about Disney princesses, where she has vast knowledge and I have none, but the conversation was great fun.
Lincoln and I explored the barn and shed. We walked down to the edge of the field and looked at the creek. He explored and inspected everything. He is an old man in the way he walks and inspects things which cracks me up. He stands there, little chubby hands hooked in his pockets, head tilted forward just like an old man at a construction site. We walked and talked and explored.
Then I got to hold Isaac during church. We played and chewed on the bulletin, and he would just stare during the song service. Of particular interest was the "prayer card" in the seat back holder. After being chewed and slobbered on his mother took it away from us, not allowing us to put it back in the holder. What is that all about? I'm pretty sure it would dry before next Sunday. He did great in church, probably better than I.
But I spent the weekend trying to soak up time with my dad and the farm. The farm will soon pass from our family and it feels like some part of my family is passing from me. Dad can't handle the work load anymore and they need to move into town. So I spent some portion of every morning and evening looking out across the back fence remembering as many of the times spent there as possible. At the same time I was trying to soak up time with Dad. I wish his integrity and good humor came more naturally to me. Each moment I was wishing that I could reach out my hands and hold back time for just a little while, to hold my memories in place for a moment. But I know that time marches inexorably forward, ignoring my pleas, nudging me along against my will. I want to be able to set my pack to the ground at this moment in my journey, but it seems that there is no place to rest, no place to stop. There was a sense of trying to hold back a stream of water with only my hands..it simply washed over me and rushed on.
The clock keeps ticking. It makes me sad and grateful. Sad that the constant ticking means this world will change in unforgivable ways. Grateful for the memories that make me who I am. We are the sum of our decisions and memories. So I spent as much time with Dad as I could, laughing, kidding each other, just soaking it in. And I split time with my grandkids, imprinting on them memories that will be woven into the fabric of who they will become. Tick, tick ,tick...
Godspeed, the journey is a good one with an inevitable end. But, man, what memories that journey creates.
Don
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
What is Wrong with this Picture?!?
This past Sunday my bride and I decided to visit a church close by because our youngest daughter had expressed an interest due to the new, young pulpit guy they had just hired. We had visited there before and it was fine, but just not enough to compel us to be regular visitors. Both of us share the desire to see our kids/kids-in-law/grandkids connected in a meaningful way to a community of faith. So we decided to go with them and lend support.
The visit was fine. Not extraordinary. But good enough. We were greeted warmly, we knew some of the folks, and because we are longtime veterans of the church scene, we knew where to go for coffee, knew how to find the nursery, knew what to expect in the assembly. There was not much they couldn't come up with that we hadn't seen.
Our grandson was parked in the nursery and no sooner had he been handed across the counter than his lower lip was stuck out, and before we were out of earshot we could hear him complaining to all that he was not happy with this arrangement. The over/under on how long he would last was somewhere in the 10 minute range. The service started with the singing, then the prayers, then the sermon. About 3 minutes into the sermon the nursery attendant came looking for our daughter to come get Lincoln who was still screaming. So Carrie went out and got him, brought into the assembly with us, then the three adults spent the next 30 minutes trying to keep him occupied, happy, and quiet. We were moderately successful. When we got back in the car the frustration was evident in my daughter. She felt like she had spent an hour trying to calm a toddler in a roomful of people who she assumed were exasperated with her and her rambunctious kid. It broke my heart that church had frustrated her rather than restored her.
Here is the situation as I see it. We are asking a generation that is only tenuously connected to "church" to come at a specific time, with well-mannered kids, and sit quietly while we run through the rites of the Sunday morning assembly. These young parents are looking at this set up and are opting out. Why put your kid, your spouse, and yourself through this every Sunday? To be honest, I felt like all three of us had been wrestling alligators when this was over. Tired, stepped on, apologetic, and hungry are not the emotions that church should engender. So what is wrong with this picture? We tried to tell my daughter that we went through the same thing, that missing some or all of the assembly time was part of the deal until the kids were old enough to weather the separation. I could tell she wasn't sure if she could handle that.
Here is my take on what we should do. If we insist on the assembly being over an hour, we need to do away with the nursery and allow the little ones to come into the assembly and make as much noise as they want. This would have the dual effect of allowing us grey-heads to help corral the kids on our row, in a kind, grandparenty way. It would also have a much needed impact on all ego-centric preachers to get to the point, make it, and get the heck to the end of the sermon. Sermons should be capped at 15 minutes, if you can't do it in that time frame, go back and spend more time on being succinct, less time on hearing your own prattle. Keeping our babies in the assembly would also be an affirmation that we are "family" and not "church." Crying babies are the sound of a healthy community. If all you hear is the wheezing of us geezers, then the community is dead already.
Here's an idea. What if we all just gathered, sang whatever songs were on some one's heart. Prayed with and for each other. Let anyone who has a SHORT message stand up and speak the voice of God into our ears, then when the kids got too rowdy, we call it a day. I think I read this somewhere. We better do something or we are placing our communities of faith on a path of extinction. We need the young families to feel welcome, to feel at home, and to feel that they matter rather than feeling that they are a bother.
Godspeed out there to all the young moms and dads who are trying to do the right thing. We can make this work, don't give up on us just yet.
Don
The visit was fine. Not extraordinary. But good enough. We were greeted warmly, we knew some of the folks, and because we are longtime veterans of the church scene, we knew where to go for coffee, knew how to find the nursery, knew what to expect in the assembly. There was not much they couldn't come up with that we hadn't seen.
Our grandson was parked in the nursery and no sooner had he been handed across the counter than his lower lip was stuck out, and before we were out of earshot we could hear him complaining to all that he was not happy with this arrangement. The over/under on how long he would last was somewhere in the 10 minute range. The service started with the singing, then the prayers, then the sermon. About 3 minutes into the sermon the nursery attendant came looking for our daughter to come get Lincoln who was still screaming. So Carrie went out and got him, brought into the assembly with us, then the three adults spent the next 30 minutes trying to keep him occupied, happy, and quiet. We were moderately successful. When we got back in the car the frustration was evident in my daughter. She felt like she had spent an hour trying to calm a toddler in a roomful of people who she assumed were exasperated with her and her rambunctious kid. It broke my heart that church had frustrated her rather than restored her.
Here is the situation as I see it. We are asking a generation that is only tenuously connected to "church" to come at a specific time, with well-mannered kids, and sit quietly while we run through the rites of the Sunday morning assembly. These young parents are looking at this set up and are opting out. Why put your kid, your spouse, and yourself through this every Sunday? To be honest, I felt like all three of us had been wrestling alligators when this was over. Tired, stepped on, apologetic, and hungry are not the emotions that church should engender. So what is wrong with this picture? We tried to tell my daughter that we went through the same thing, that missing some or all of the assembly time was part of the deal until the kids were old enough to weather the separation. I could tell she wasn't sure if she could handle that.
Here is my take on what we should do. If we insist on the assembly being over an hour, we need to do away with the nursery and allow the little ones to come into the assembly and make as much noise as they want. This would have the dual effect of allowing us grey-heads to help corral the kids on our row, in a kind, grandparenty way. It would also have a much needed impact on all ego-centric preachers to get to the point, make it, and get the heck to the end of the sermon. Sermons should be capped at 15 minutes, if you can't do it in that time frame, go back and spend more time on being succinct, less time on hearing your own prattle. Keeping our babies in the assembly would also be an affirmation that we are "family" and not "church." Crying babies are the sound of a healthy community. If all you hear is the wheezing of us geezers, then the community is dead already.
Here's an idea. What if we all just gathered, sang whatever songs were on some one's heart. Prayed with and for each other. Let anyone who has a SHORT message stand up and speak the voice of God into our ears, then when the kids got too rowdy, we call it a day. I think I read this somewhere. We better do something or we are placing our communities of faith on a path of extinction. We need the young families to feel welcome, to feel at home, and to feel that they matter rather than feeling that they are a bother.
Godspeed out there to all the young moms and dads who are trying to do the right thing. We can make this work, don't give up on us just yet.
Don
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Wrong Room
There are two types of hotel rooms that I find creepy to stay in by myself. Since my career over the past six years or so has involved a lot of travel, it has become something of a pet peeve when I receive one of these two types of rooms. Normally if I am in the hotel for one night, it doesn't bother me what room I stay in. As a friend of mine says, "I can hold a bear's head in a snuff box that long" Translation: I can do almost anything for a short period of time. But the nights spent in these rooms tend to depress me for highly diverse reasons.
The first style of room that happens the most frequently is the "handicapped" room. Handbars on the tub and shower, extra room next to the toilet, lower sink levels for wheelchair guests, couches and chairs removed for easier access to the bed and desk all make for a depressing stay. In my opinion, all the hotels need rooms like these. Folks with disabilities should be able to travel and tour and not be inconvenienced by poorly designed rooms. With that said, it depresses me to stay in them. I bump my elbows on the handrails in the shower, I sit on the bed and not at the desk. It is a constant reminder that there are folks who live in this world that live this as "normal". My eldest daughter while taking Gleevac for her cancer maintenance would understand better than I reframing your world to a new "normal." But I struggle when this normal is overlayed onto my normal. I guess I'm trying to say it isn't normal.
Monday night I was given a room in Grand Rapids which was twice the normal size of a standard hotel room...with a huge whirlpool tub in the corner..with two walls of mirrors surrounding the tub and reflecting on the bed, next to the tub. Nice room, but all I wanted to do was sleep there, do a little work, and go to my appointment. The room was obviously designed for a couple on a get away weekend. But the other half of my couple was 1200 miles away, too long a reach for even me. So every move I made was reflected in those mirrors. The only way to get away from them was to sit at the built in desk unit across the room nearer the TV. It only accentuated the fact that my bride was at home and I was not. Narcissism run aground. Just as an aside note, my working out is not having as much effect as I had hoped. Maybe mirrors add 15 pounds.
So here is what occurred to me as I was flying home. How many of us journey through life living in the wrong rooms? Our culture tells us we are sick, or have a certain malady that if we add the bars or move the furniture we can develop a new normal. If we live with the idea that we are impaired in some way, then the props that the world imposes on us will feel like the life of normality. Or our culture tells us that constant reflection and larger rooms and the need for better and better are the way to go. When we finally see a true reflection we understand that the lifestyle of narcissism only accentuates our alone-ness. We seem to spend our lives living in the wrong rooms.
When I got home last night my bride gave me hug and a kiss and said, "The washer is leaking." Aww. Home. My place with the worldview that allows a little sickness, allows intimacy, allows me to see me and the ones I love with clarity and discernment. We need to learn to take our rooms with us, not accept the rooms that the world tries to force on us. God built our rooms long before we arrived. He knew just what to put in them and just what to leave out, it is only our attempts to "fix it up" that we end up messing it up.
By the way, I went back down to the front desk to see if the young lady wanted to put me in a normal room. Would you believe that the "couples" room she gave me was the cheapest in the place? Hmm. Could be another blog in there.
Godspeed, to live in our intended rooms is a life well-lived.
Don
The first style of room that happens the most frequently is the "handicapped" room. Handbars on the tub and shower, extra room next to the toilet, lower sink levels for wheelchair guests, couches and chairs removed for easier access to the bed and desk all make for a depressing stay. In my opinion, all the hotels need rooms like these. Folks with disabilities should be able to travel and tour and not be inconvenienced by poorly designed rooms. With that said, it depresses me to stay in them. I bump my elbows on the handrails in the shower, I sit on the bed and not at the desk. It is a constant reminder that there are folks who live in this world that live this as "normal". My eldest daughter while taking Gleevac for her cancer maintenance would understand better than I reframing your world to a new "normal." But I struggle when this normal is overlayed onto my normal. I guess I'm trying to say it isn't normal.
Monday night I was given a room in Grand Rapids which was twice the normal size of a standard hotel room...with a huge whirlpool tub in the corner..with two walls of mirrors surrounding the tub and reflecting on the bed, next to the tub. Nice room, but all I wanted to do was sleep there, do a little work, and go to my appointment. The room was obviously designed for a couple on a get away weekend. But the other half of my couple was 1200 miles away, too long a reach for even me. So every move I made was reflected in those mirrors. The only way to get away from them was to sit at the built in desk unit across the room nearer the TV. It only accentuated the fact that my bride was at home and I was not. Narcissism run aground. Just as an aside note, my working out is not having as much effect as I had hoped. Maybe mirrors add 15 pounds.
So here is what occurred to me as I was flying home. How many of us journey through life living in the wrong rooms? Our culture tells us we are sick, or have a certain malady that if we add the bars or move the furniture we can develop a new normal. If we live with the idea that we are impaired in some way, then the props that the world imposes on us will feel like the life of normality. Or our culture tells us that constant reflection and larger rooms and the need for better and better are the way to go. When we finally see a true reflection we understand that the lifestyle of narcissism only accentuates our alone-ness. We seem to spend our lives living in the wrong rooms.
When I got home last night my bride gave me hug and a kiss and said, "The washer is leaking." Aww. Home. My place with the worldview that allows a little sickness, allows intimacy, allows me to see me and the ones I love with clarity and discernment. We need to learn to take our rooms with us, not accept the rooms that the world tries to force on us. God built our rooms long before we arrived. He knew just what to put in them and just what to leave out, it is only our attempts to "fix it up" that we end up messing it up.
By the way, I went back down to the front desk to see if the young lady wanted to put me in a normal room. Would you believe that the "couples" room she gave me was the cheapest in the place? Hmm. Could be another blog in there.
Godspeed, to live in our intended rooms is a life well-lived.
Don
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Parachuting In
This past Thanksgiving my daughters insisted that I join the Facebook world. We spent a tortuous couple of hours going through the protocol of FB, we explored all the benefits, then we went through the part that intimidated me from the beginning.."accepting" or "ignoring" friends. This exercise was excruciating. So until this past week I was not overwhelmed with posts, nor felt the compulsion to respond to very many.
Then I accepted a friendship offer from a girl I knew in high school. She apparently has kept up with everybody, while I have kept up with no one..intentionally. There is a small streak of my dad in me. He refuses to look back. The afternoon of my mom's funeral he encouraged the daughter and D-i-Ls to go through mom's stuff and get what they want because the rest is being donated. We have always joked that Dad should not be the one to decide how long we stay on life support, after all Kiwanis will not wait. There is a little of this in me and high school was one of those events that was fine, but I never looked back and didn't keep up with the folks once I was gone.
As I mentioned above the girl from high school was someone I knew, but didn't really run around with. I have no real inclinations either way, but on a whim I accepted the offer of "friends" and thought no more about it. A day or two later when I checked FB, Holy Cow! There were 53 folks wanting to "befriend" me. I was a jokester in high school and we all had a lot of laughs, but in the intervening years I have become less so and I'm sure all these people are the same. Besides, even with the maiden name listed in the request, I didn't even KNOW half these people. Now I am revisiting the angst from Thanksgiving about who is in and who is out. This is stressful.
Now I have discovered that some of these people (specifically the women) have stayed in touch all these years. So as these posts pop up on my FB page there are all sorts of inside jokes, shared trauma, accomplishments, disappointments, illness, long-distant moves, and even deaths that I have suddenly parachuted into the middle of. It is a little disconcerting to suddenly be thrown into this 40 year reconnect with no knowledge of the intervening years. So will my way of joking be acceptable? (sometimes it comes across as a little sarcastic..when it is really just very cerebral) Do I want to attempt to catch them up on my journey? Probably not. And now I learn there is this whole 40-year-reunion talk for next year. Hmmm. I am bringing about a pound a year to the event over high school. Yeah, this is going to go well.
My bride keeps pointing out that FB is responsible for a lot of marriage breakups. I have given up trying to explain to her that if there are any of the girls left from high school who have any interest in me, my interest in them has been long gone from the first time I spotted her in Abilene all those years ago at ACU. She captured my heart and holds it to this day. Besides, breaking up was really not my specialty back in those days, so unless they are looking for revenge, she has nothing to fear.
For now it is a wait and see deal on FB. I accepted them all..it was easier than trying to remember who they all were. As a plus, one of the girls I was in choir with sent me a picture of me and a couple of other guys in the Senior Musical from the article in the paper. I am trying to figure out how to print this from FB, it is cool to see how much change has happened, hair, weight, and the silver tooth is gone. I am also being told that I can "hide" either from these folks or them from me. Facebook, the new social conscience.
Godspeed to all you travelers on the virtual highway. It may seem like nothing has changed, but I am here to tell you that, judging from the picture I received a lot has changed.
Don
Then I accepted a friendship offer from a girl I knew in high school. She apparently has kept up with everybody, while I have kept up with no one..intentionally. There is a small streak of my dad in me. He refuses to look back. The afternoon of my mom's funeral he encouraged the daughter and D-i-Ls to go through mom's stuff and get what they want because the rest is being donated. We have always joked that Dad should not be the one to decide how long we stay on life support, after all Kiwanis will not wait. There is a little of this in me and high school was one of those events that was fine, but I never looked back and didn't keep up with the folks once I was gone.
As I mentioned above the girl from high school was someone I knew, but didn't really run around with. I have no real inclinations either way, but on a whim I accepted the offer of "friends" and thought no more about it. A day or two later when I checked FB, Holy Cow! There were 53 folks wanting to "befriend" me. I was a jokester in high school and we all had a lot of laughs, but in the intervening years I have become less so and I'm sure all these people are the same. Besides, even with the maiden name listed in the request, I didn't even KNOW half these people. Now I am revisiting the angst from Thanksgiving about who is in and who is out. This is stressful.
Now I have discovered that some of these people (specifically the women) have stayed in touch all these years. So as these posts pop up on my FB page there are all sorts of inside jokes, shared trauma, accomplishments, disappointments, illness, long-distant moves, and even deaths that I have suddenly parachuted into the middle of. It is a little disconcerting to suddenly be thrown into this 40 year reconnect with no knowledge of the intervening years. So will my way of joking be acceptable? (sometimes it comes across as a little sarcastic..when it is really just very cerebral) Do I want to attempt to catch them up on my journey? Probably not. And now I learn there is this whole 40-year-reunion talk for next year. Hmmm. I am bringing about a pound a year to the event over high school. Yeah, this is going to go well.
My bride keeps pointing out that FB is responsible for a lot of marriage breakups. I have given up trying to explain to her that if there are any of the girls left from high school who have any interest in me, my interest in them has been long gone from the first time I spotted her in Abilene all those years ago at ACU. She captured my heart and holds it to this day. Besides, breaking up was really not my specialty back in those days, so unless they are looking for revenge, she has nothing to fear.
For now it is a wait and see deal on FB. I accepted them all..it was easier than trying to remember who they all were. As a plus, one of the girls I was in choir with sent me a picture of me and a couple of other guys in the Senior Musical from the article in the paper. I am trying to figure out how to print this from FB, it is cool to see how much change has happened, hair, weight, and the silver tooth is gone. I am also being told that I can "hide" either from these folks or them from me. Facebook, the new social conscience.
Godspeed to all you travelers on the virtual highway. It may seem like nothing has changed, but I am here to tell you that, judging from the picture I received a lot has changed.
Don
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
The Looking Glass
It always surprises me that the perception we have of ourselves is rarely shared by all those around us. We each look in the mirror and are rarely surprised by the character staring back at us. Oh we see the physical features like everyone else, but we struggle with the warring worlds within us. When speaking to my kids and my friends and certainly my bride I reference all the "voices" in my head. They are a vocal bunch and apparently rather contentious. You see we are not simply one way or another and we look different to those around us. But our lives are less like a mirror and more like a looking glass.
Turning the looking glass one way, I am a reflective soul. I enjoy pondering the mysteries of this life. Quiet reflection was something I had to learn, it is done in silence and solitude. It can only be accomplished by quieting all the noise in my head long enough to left full disclosure happen. There are some dark and scary thoughts in there, but those thoughts are simply an ingredient of what makes me..well, me. But this discipline of reflection has to be exercised the same as working out at the gym, it is not a natural product of our culture. So why desire this particular ingredient? Because it also allows me the ingredient of discernment. It helps me understand motive and actions, it gives me insight into the dark places of others, both close and distant. This ingredient also gives me some level of calm, peace in an unpeaceful world. I am allowed to quiet the panic that engulfs most of us at one time or another.
So I can spin the looking glass another way and understand that there are at least four people in the world accept me as a benevolent force in their world. Two of them call me "grandaddy" one of them calls me "gandadadad.." the fourth simply looks at me with either a mild look of concern or one of the most endearing little grins you could imagine. But these four hold a very special place that no one else holds. I treat them differently than I do anyone else in the world and I think at some level they understand that. So the reflection they see is a guy who just wants to be with them, to soak them up as often as possible because the sand will run out of my hourglass before it does theirs, then they will only have the memories of me. So the reflection looks different to them than anyone else.
This looking glass has so many sides. Husband, father, son, uncle, friend, opponent, employee, boss, father-in-law, competitor, citizen, member, grandaddy, and the list literally goes on and on. I have a customer that refers to me as "the plain-spoken Texan" others have other descriptions, not always as flattering. So who is the real "me"? All of them, and only some of them, and occasionally none of them.
But I think there are some reflections that are the real thing. I try for honesty, integrity, compassion, generosity, and the toughest of all..humility. Some would point out that I don't have all that much to be proud of in my own crazy make-up, but the human condition is one that places pride above the rest of the traits. It is the one we fight against the hardest and the most often. The traits above should be found regardless of which way you turn the looking glass. It is when these traits are left out that the looking glass refuses to awe us.
I have wondered if this is the aspect of God that we have not seen. We each turn the God-prism so it looks the prettiest to us. Something in my background or yours might compel us to look at the glass that best reflects grace or love or forgiveness. But if we keep turning the glass we will see jealousy, vengeance, intractability, single-mindedness, a demand for loyalty, and the reflections go on and on. You see, I think that God is as multi-dimensional as we are, perhaps more so. And like us he has traits that are reflected from each image in the looking glass. I think these go back to the words above, integrity, honesty, compassion, etc. In this way perhaps we are created in his image.
Godspeed out there. Remember that the looking glass has many sides, it is the wonder of this life when we grow wise enough to turn the glass and enjoy all the colors.
Don
Turning the looking glass one way, I am a reflective soul. I enjoy pondering the mysteries of this life. Quiet reflection was something I had to learn, it is done in silence and solitude. It can only be accomplished by quieting all the noise in my head long enough to left full disclosure happen. There are some dark and scary thoughts in there, but those thoughts are simply an ingredient of what makes me..well, me. But this discipline of reflection has to be exercised the same as working out at the gym, it is not a natural product of our culture. So why desire this particular ingredient? Because it also allows me the ingredient of discernment. It helps me understand motive and actions, it gives me insight into the dark places of others, both close and distant. This ingredient also gives me some level of calm, peace in an unpeaceful world. I am allowed to quiet the panic that engulfs most of us at one time or another.
So I can spin the looking glass another way and understand that there are at least four people in the world accept me as a benevolent force in their world. Two of them call me "grandaddy" one of them calls me "gandadadad.." the fourth simply looks at me with either a mild look of concern or one of the most endearing little grins you could imagine. But these four hold a very special place that no one else holds. I treat them differently than I do anyone else in the world and I think at some level they understand that. So the reflection they see is a guy who just wants to be with them, to soak them up as often as possible because the sand will run out of my hourglass before it does theirs, then they will only have the memories of me. So the reflection looks different to them than anyone else.
This looking glass has so many sides. Husband, father, son, uncle, friend, opponent, employee, boss, father-in-law, competitor, citizen, member, grandaddy, and the list literally goes on and on. I have a customer that refers to me as "the plain-spoken Texan" others have other descriptions, not always as flattering. So who is the real "me"? All of them, and only some of them, and occasionally none of them.
But I think there are some reflections that are the real thing. I try for honesty, integrity, compassion, generosity, and the toughest of all..humility. Some would point out that I don't have all that much to be proud of in my own crazy make-up, but the human condition is one that places pride above the rest of the traits. It is the one we fight against the hardest and the most often. The traits above should be found regardless of which way you turn the looking glass. It is when these traits are left out that the looking glass refuses to awe us.
I have wondered if this is the aspect of God that we have not seen. We each turn the God-prism so it looks the prettiest to us. Something in my background or yours might compel us to look at the glass that best reflects grace or love or forgiveness. But if we keep turning the glass we will see jealousy, vengeance, intractability, single-mindedness, a demand for loyalty, and the reflections go on and on. You see, I think that God is as multi-dimensional as we are, perhaps more so. And like us he has traits that are reflected from each image in the looking glass. I think these go back to the words above, integrity, honesty, compassion, etc. In this way perhaps we are created in his image.
Godspeed out there. Remember that the looking glass has many sides, it is the wonder of this life when we grow wise enough to turn the glass and enjoy all the colors.
Don
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