Time Off

These past few days have been such a blessing. This year has been marked with getting on and off airplanes, meetings with customers, training reps in the new world order, going, going, going. Last Friday afternoon, I unpacked my business laptop, turned off my business phone, plugged it in, and have (mostly) ignored the inclination to check it all see what is going on. I have taken "time off" for what will end up being 10 days. And I am loving it.

Here are a few things I have discovered:

I don't really sleep enough. My body has gotten used to caching sleep in 4 hour segments. To illustrate this, I am posting a blog at 6AM, I have been up since 4AM, I woke up twice from 10PM to 4AM. Twice during this time off my bride made me take a nap. Both ended up being two hour, dead-to-the-world, waking up disoriented, type of naps. They were also incredibly refreshing. I probably can't change my sleep patterns, but recognizing the need is something. Right? I also have found the fun in staying up a bit and then crawling back into bed to snuggle for a little bit. No flights to catch, no conference calls, no agenda. Simply crawl back in and try not to wake my bride who is, by the way, a champion sleeper.

Then we get into those silly meandering conversations that two life partners of almost 40 years get into. We were just waking up and each mentioned that we both had weird dreams. We were laughing about it being the paint and glue fumes from having our master bath redone over the previous couple of days. I said, "Well, don't touch the pretty blue flower on the stove." She had no idea what I was talking about. Then trying to describe the anti-drug film in health from 7th or 8th grade, only confused her more. For the next couple of days I tried to find someone else who had seen the film about the effects of doing drugs and received only blank looks for my explanation. Apparently all the other school systems were running sex-ed films trying to keep their young girls from getting pregnant. Don F, John W, and I had to try and figure all that sex stuff out on our own while camping as 16 year olds...as the line from Dumb and Dumber..we were way off. Somewhere along the line, though, we figured it out, since we are all leading a pack of kids, grandkids, and three very patient and understanding, and possibly a bit bewildered wives.

I am a sentimental old fool.  I am replacing my old worn-out 2000 Ford Ranger, the survivor of a deer attack (see blog from a couple of years ago) , a daughter's stint in college, and the effects of 256,000 miles. Like all of us, her paint is coming off, the electrical system doesn't work very well, and she clunks and clanks and moans and groans as the miles pile up. We need something dependable, and Miss Rojo is no longer that. So it is with bitter-sweetness that I look at the shiny new trucks and try to find a worthy replacement. Sigh.

Godspeed to all the folks out there who have some time off to reflect, to rest, to refresh during these days. It is 6:30, I think I will sneak back in and snuggle a bit. 
Don

The Altar of Security

This post has been percolating in my mind since last week when a first grade class in a quiet elementary school became the killing fields for a sick and sad young man. Like the rest of the nation my questions centered around why, and what could be done to prevent, what went wrong, who missed the clues? Tragedy of this magnitude is simply hard to fathom. I can't imagine what the parents, grandparents, friends and community are going through. The snapshots of parents receiving the crushing news about their precious babies will be forever etched in my mind. Anxiety replaced by news that will change the shape of their world and their hearts forever, the images will not go away, ever.

The stories of courageous educators shielding their young charges hits home with me. Both of my daughters are educators, my bride is a 20 year veteran in the library at our local elementary. I have no problem envisioning all my girls stepping into the breach, unarmed, except for the warrior spirit they each carry. There is no doubt in my mind that they would act exactly as the brave ladies from last week, sacrificing their own lives to save a few. I have no doubt at all, and it makes me proud and sick at heart all at the same time.

What I haven't been able to stomach in the days since the shooting is the political agendas from both the professional politicians and the pompous talking heads. All are trying to frame the event to their advantage. Some are saying it is a gun issue, others are claiming it is a mental health issue, school security, law enforcement, the list goes on and on. It is never ending the ability of ego-centric people to bend world events to their view. I can't listen to them anymore.

The real issue is that this world is a battleground. It is Evil against Good. There are no rules, there are no DMZs, everyone is engaged in the battle. But in America we have selected a philosophy that we hope will take us out of the battle. We have decided that we can do anything to anybody in the name of security. We worship at the altar of Security.

This philosophy invades every fiber of our society. My work takes me all over the country. I will fly over 100 segments this year. Several times a week I have to strip off my shoes, my belt, empty my pockets, put all liquids in a bag, take my laptop out, to go through "security". On the occasion when I can use TSA Pre-Check, it only reminds me that most of the time I can't. But the reality is that TSA hopes and I hope that someone hasn't found a way to blow a hole in the plane at 30,000 feet. The reason this is so important is not that the 150 souls or so on board are precious, but that the news account would shake the "security" of the economy of one of our largest industries.
All we need to do make us all safe is to take away all the guns, all the drinking alcohol, drugs, bad drivers, slick roads, find a cure to all terminal illnesses, get rid of heart disease, cancer, and saturated fats and then we can all sleep well at night. It can't be done. Because then people would worry themselves to death because they are worried about retirement, we won't have enough social "security" to see all the way to the end. Preachers have focused for decades on "salvation", why? because it is our security blanket in the great uncounting beyond.

We as a society cannot build enough walls, enough safe guards, enough rules, enough regulations to guard us against the Evil that lurks. As sad as it is to see precious little ones die before they have had a chance to live, it is not something this battle we call life will allow.

And I'm not sure we should want to. Have we traded one fear for another when our schools are barred, guarded by military, and locked down? Have we traded risk for imprisonment? I am reminded of a story of a wealthy man who had an only son. He kept this son confined to their estate, with any luxury the son needed. On his 18th birthday the father allowed the son to go free into society. The excitement killed the boy.

My heart breaks for the parents of those kids, for the spouses and kids of those educators, but it reminds me that the battle rages on, and it reminds me that another father took the risky road and sent his son, not to live securely, but to die. The first battle cry in the war was a baby's whimper from a manger. The Evil One has never forgotten or forgiven that defeat.

Godspeed to all the risk-takers, the ones who fight the battle, who stand in the way and will not allow Evil to win the day. The battle rages, take heart, it is okay to cry, but through the tears Good must fight on.
Don

Never Again

This past Thanksgiving was an avalanche of blessings. All my kids and grand kids around. Watching Eli become the idol of his younger boy cousins. Enjoying all the bows and bloomers and cuddles of my granddaughters. Bumping elbows with everyone in the kitchen. Getting to talk to my dad for a couple of days, instead of on all too brief phone visits. Going to bed tired and sore and full of contentment. This was certainly one of the Thanksgivings for the record books.

But this one is gone. Never to be lived again. We have pictures and we have stories to tell, we have the memories that will reside inside to be awakened at the least expected moment. But this moment will never be relived. It is likely that this group will never be reconvened in just this assortment again, with the ages of everyone locked in place, with the life circumstances putting thoughts in our heads or actions in our hands. The moment is gone like small puff of smoke on a breezy day.

I don't know why this has stuck with me all week. This is a truth that is ancient and new. I guess part of it is the reminder that this life is certainly a journey, short for some, longer for others, but a one-way journey. It is not a journey where we can retrace our steps. We can't move back down the path we have already traversed. I know there are moments when I would like nothing better than to camp at a certain point in my life, but the flow of life itself pulls me ever onward.

This journey is usually uphill. It has resting places with stunning views and reflection on the effort it took to get to that spot, but the journey is not finished. Watching my dad struggle at 90 with names and a hip that bothers him, it struck me that the journey also gets a steep at the end. Perhaps for him it is simply all the steps along the way that makes it hard to remember them all. On my journey it is holding two little girls Lola and Abby who have just begun their journey. They are riding on others shoulders right now, carried along until they can walk the journey themselves. While the grade seems mild for now, it will steepen as they get older.

So the backpack gets dusted off, the laces on the boots tightened a bit. Glancing around to make sure everyone is on their feet and moving out. But this was a nice rest stop, a place of jokes and caring and service and hugs. Perhaps the hugs were the best.

Godspeed to all the travelers, hope you enjoyed your moment of rest.
Don

Thanks

Facebook these days is full of folks listing, day by day the things they are thankful for. I appreicate the thought and discernment that goes into that effort. I feel that it is right and appropriate to pause every once in a while and lift a small prayer of thanks for all the ways we are blessed.

From my perspective there are simply too many things to list in a day or month or year. The end result is that I am happy with my life. I wonder how many people can say that? If given the opporutnity, or said a better way, if nothing else changes would this be enough? Would it be enough relationships? enough money? enough health? enough work? enough significance? Would it be enough. And after I go through the inventory my heart goes back to being a happy and satisfied heart. Yes, it would be enough.

But as we know, all things change. Change is the great unchanging. Health will fail, money will be spent, people we love and hold dear will depart, work will dissapooint, significance will fade. Will it be enough then? Can we look around the inventory of our lives and realize that the stockshelves of our satisfaction will slowly empty? What do we have then to be thankful for?

My observation over the past several years has been that old people fall into two major groups. The first group is like my dad. He is active and funny, he is honest and helpful, he is maddeningly short on details about events around him, he is fun to be around. I would say that while most of his life is growing distant in the rearview mirror, he carries great memories and fond thoughts about his life. I sense that he has few regrets. He has taught me to look forward, sometimes I forget and am mired in the past wrongs and hurts. But he has taught me the value of finding hope in the future. There is no one that I know that does not like being around him.
The other group tends to be cranky. I catch myself falling into this group occasionally. I find these folks tend to crane their necks from the driver-side windows to keep old grievances in view, old pains that will not heal, old grudges that can't be released. They look for new grievances to make the old ones strong. They spend their lives in combat with all things and people around them. It is tiring to watch, and as my bride will probably attest, it is tiring to live with. They simply do not have a generosity of spirit that will allow them to be content.

So what am I thankful for? For all of it. A bride who sends me texts when I'm on the road and simply says, "I love you" A thread of hope and future tied to the one person who knows me and loves me best. For kids and kids-in-law and grandkids who make my day as rich as the wealthiest shiek. Who call me Dad, Grandaddy, and "Old Man" and all the names that tells me they love me. For my work, which was absent for so long. For my love of words and what they mean. For my passion about all the things that matter. For my God, who has never been absent, and who sends me notes of love when I least expect it or deserve it. I am thankful for all the pain and hurt and disapointment that this life has handed me because it makes me realize that the deepest joy is birthed from the deepest trauma. I am thankful that God has allowed me to gain some level of discernment, of wisdom about the world and His ways.

Godspeed, it is world of surprises, perhaps the greatest of which is the surprise of contentment in my life. I like this spot on the journey, but trail leads on. We hitch up our packs, help each up, and journey on. I'm thankful for that as well.
Don

When the Oceans Rise..

Yesterday was a typical get-on-the-plane-strap-in-get-my-kindle-out sort of start to the trip. Headed to Miami for a trade show that no one wants to go to or really feels is necessary. But the job requires my presence and like the good soldier I am, I packed up and flew to Miami.

It was a completely full flight. I was towards the back of the plane in 22C and simply trying to get comfortable. The pilot came on and told us that the flight had been delayed because the plane (they call it equipment) originally scheduled had been diverted to another trip. The one we were on had come in from Puerto Rico and had to cleaned and cleared by "security".  I checked the little seat pouch In front of me for a packet of drugs but only found magazines. The pilot said he would further explain the delay once we were airborne. Okay, that bothered me a little. I'm reminded of my oldest daughter's wedding dress buying trip where my impression was that she and her mother and her college friends would pick out a selection, then  I would go and help in the final decision. My bride called me later in the afternoon and said, "Guess what we did today!" Voice full of excitement. "What did you do today?"..."We bought a wedding dress!" Really. "How much was it?" Long silence. "Why don't we talk about it when I get home?" Hmmm. "Why don't we talk about it now?" I felt this conversation should have happened with the pilot. Why don't we talk about it before this big, shiny, flying machine takes to the skies?

So off we went from Dallas to Miami. Somewhere over Louisiana the pilot told us that the water was contaminated on the plane and had to drained and plugged up, the toilets would not work. I decided to drink my bottled water, thank you very much. Then he proceeded to tell that as we cleared the airspace over New Orleans and headed out over the gulf, we might experience some mild to moderate "chop"  I'm used to this. I fly over 100,000 miles a year. A little chop is no big deal, even more serious chop I can handle. Sure enough, we hit some chop, I opened the shade over the window and realized there was no land in sight.

For the first time that I can remember I freaked a little. For some reason I (apparently) have a deep-seated dread of an airplane falling out of the sky into the ocean. Over land, no problem, over water, problem. It made me so uneasy I couldn't sit still. So I got as if to go to the toilet that doesn't work and kind of strolled the aisle. Moderate chop and high anxiety (get it? 36,000 ft..high anxiety) resulted in sweaty palms, nervous stomach, and not being able to sit still.

So I did the only thing I knew to do..pray and try to think about anything else. Here is where I wonder about God's sense of humor. The first words that popped into my head were the song's lyrics,
When the oceans rise and thunders roar,
I will follow you above the storm
Father you are over all the flood..

Why wouldn't He put Peace, Perfect Peace into my head? I think he does that to us who are functional skeptics. Very funny. I get it. Now get us back over terra firma before I lose my lunch.

The end of the story is that we landed safe and sound. I considered having a serious conversation with the pilot on my way out, but was afraid they would hold me over and make me fly back with them.

Anyway, all's well that ends well.

Godspeed to all the nervous fliers out there. Okay, now I get it.
Don

Too Long for FB, Not Enough For Blog

Clearing out the little thoughts and such, sort of a spring cleaning of the opinion closet.

It seems we are surrounded with useless inventions and ideas that need to be closed down forever.
Neck ties. Really? Who thought of this? Yet when I travel there is always a bevy of executroids wearing them. They seem to be stamped out of the same mold, earnest expression, constant I-phone checking, dark suits, gathering in little clumps of self-importance. I am always thinking that the only real difference is the color and pattern of the tie. Maybe that is why they exist, so we can tell them apart.
As my bride tells me, when the pantyhose craze hit, it was "one-size-fits-all" or as my sweet bride lamented, "one-size-fits-no-body" Of course pantyhose is now falling the way of the necktie, no one wears them much anymore. This is an idea that should have gone by the wayside years ago.
Sporks, as in a spoon that has little, tiny, useless tines. They look like the silly arms on the T-rex. Can't hold soup, can't pick up mac-n-cheese. What are they good for? Frustrating anyone who tries to use them.
Indestructible, plastic packaging that would withstand a nuclear blast. Short of the jaws of life and chainsaw, almost impossible to get the ear buds for the I-phone out of the packaging. There will be entire race of people in the future with no fingers and a pile of mangled electronic gear packaging, crumpled and twisted, but unopened, sitting in the middle of their living rooms wailing into the night. Perhaps this is hell, having something you need and want and can see, but can't get it out of the kevlar packaging.
Fine print.....'nuff said.

On another topic. Cosmic Jokes.
Yesterday I flew from DFW to Detroit, then on to Providence, RI. On the segment from Detroit to Providence, there was a business man who caught my attention because he was so rude. He went to the desk several times to ask about the flight, he huffed and puffed, he stationed himself close to the lanes for boarding so he would be first. I think if he could have shoved the wheelchair folks aside, he would have. You get the picture. Anyway, we all had to gate-check our rollerboards because the plane was too small for them to fit in the overhead. Naturally at the other end we all had to line up and wait for our rollerboards to be carried up the steps and hand delivered to each of us. Of course Mr. I-Am-More-Important-Than-All-of-You had to stand closest to the door, facing all the rest of us as we all waited for our bags. I'm standing probably 10-12 feet away when I noticed that every time he moved it was obvious that he was not all zipped up and squared away. Pretty sure he was wearing tidy whities.  I almost laughed out loud. I'm pretty sure that I was not hiding my smirk very well.
But now I had a moral dilemma. Tell him? or let him find it later and wonder how long he had been letting the breeze blow? Cosmic humor or Cosmic justice? Kindness or my natural ability to see all things in a somewhat skewed, but sometimes selfish light? Honesty demands that I report a personal compromise. As he strode up the jetway, his rollerboard trailing behind, I waited until he was about 5 feet from me and said in a clear, non-hushed voice, "Hey chief, you are unzipped." Nodding to his pants. Resulting in a fumbling, swerving, briefcase dropping fit of getting zipped. I thought the lady in front of me was going to have a stroke she was trying so hard not to laugh. Everyone else I could see kept their eyes trained elsewhere, and their faces faces trying not to adopt my smirk. Truthfully, I think the personal compromise may have landed a little closer to Justice side than the Kindness side..I am not perfect.

Godpseed out there, hopefully all the new inventions will be useful...maybe an automatic zipper, wonder what the product liability would be for that idea?
Don

Mum's the Word

Not too long ago, we were at my son's house having a discussion on what I don't remember, when my daughter-in-law turned to me and said, "You have gotten quieter the older you get." This stopped me. If she had said I had gotten older, or fatter, or grayer, or more wrinkly, I would have laughed and said, "You're right." But quieter?

You have to understand that when I am with my son and his bride and my bride, I am the lone extrovert in a forest of introverts. There have been many times that I have gladly carried the role of discussion energizer, keeping it moving. I have my suspicions that their son may be in my camp, but time will tell.

But quieter. I'm not sure what this means. Not at all sure it is a good thing or a bad thing. Wonder where it came from?

Perhaps it is the Spiritual Disciplines over the past 10 years or so. Two of the primary "internal" disciplines is silence and solitude. It allows the mind to empty while being open to spiritual thought. In other words, it allows the  mind to wander down the paths that God has forged, instead of trying to navigate the journey from our perspective. These disciplines lead to revelation, both self and spiritual. But the art of being silent is one that is earned, and not easily our  society. Just a day or so ago, with some dear friends we were talking about the boredom of running. It occurred to me that as I run, once I get past the discomfort of muscles and breathing, my body simply falls into a rhythm, but my mind explores thoughts and truths and questions. I could only describe it as "thinking about stuff" But it is a silence that I cherish, earned from several years of practicing this particular discipline. Could this be why I am quieter?

Or it could be that some of the recent year's experiences have dampened my enthusiasm for involvement. Disillusioned about a few of the things that have always been mainstays in my life. The breach of loyalty with organized religion, but the deep commitment I made to serve, only to be harmed by the very people who were supposed to be my advocates. The loss of career and work that sustains and gives me joy for almost two years. The understanding even now that loyalty to people-designed organizations is an iffy prospect at best. Could this have wounded me deeper than I thought?

Maybe it is the realization that this world keeps turning and one day, sooner than when I started, it will turn without me. Will the lessons I tried to teach, the loved ones I tried to help, the family I tried to raise, will they be okay? Will they be able to deal with the world as it spins in new directions? Has this made me a little more aware and thus made me more contemplative? Perhaps.

What if it is as simple as I have run out of things to say? My advice is either accepted or ignored, my opinion has worth to the hearer, or it doesn't. It is possible that I have hit a moment on this journey when I simply want to experience the ride without all the fanfare. Can't I take a moment with a few friends and my family and enjoy the quietness of being in a good moment and time? Would that be okay?

Godspeed, to all out there who hear the words from the song, "When its all been said and done" and can halt the journey for a moment, can quiet the noise of the heart, and can enjoy the quietness of the moment.
Don