There have been a lot of men over the years whom I have admired, who mentored me in various ways, who counseled me in the ways of work and church and life. These guys come and go, they make mistakes, they show up for a time, then settle away from me. But there is only one guy that I view simply as a hero..my hero. My dad embodies all the things I wish I were.
I'm sure you have sketches in your head about dads and what they ought to look like; perhaps strong, or smart, or clever, or earth-shakers. My dad is some of these, but not all. My best description would be that he is a simple, unassuming, accommodating, funny, caring, active guy. But the basis for my hero worship lies in a few of the things that this world does not value much anymore.
In my years in business and church and neighborhood I have never met a man with more integrity. I have never known him to lie, or cheat , or speak ill of anyone, even when the circumstances would have warranted it. My sister disappeared for over 5 years with her kids, there was a feud between her and her in-laws. The in-laws were in the same town as my dad, attended the same church, knew all the same people. For five years my dad listened to the gossip and the constant questions, and the speculation about all the terrible things his daughter had done. I experienced a small fraction of that inspection and speculation and was annoyed. My dad heard all the rumors, was constantly bombarded with questions and probing speculation, was called names, and he said not one word. Not one word about my sister, not one word about her in-laws, not one word about the situation. His integrity would not allow him to enter the fray. He took all the blows about his only daughter with grace and perseverance. He would not be drawn down to the level of those around him. I learned a great deal about not moving to someone else's level during those five years. He is my hero.
1982 was the year my mother died. I remember in the last days in the pain that had overwhelmed her, Dad bending over her to comfort her in the hospital bed and knowing the end was only moments or days away deeply wishing there was another answer. But the family meeting with my siblings and my dad and the doctors explaining all the choices was a pivotal moment. And I remember my dad cutting them short and telling them that we were not going to make this pain last longer than what God intended. There would be no heroic measures. To see the courage and love there to make the right decision, to let mom go on, to know the end would reshape his world and ours was a lesson I will never forget. Courage in the face of personal loss is true courage. He is my hero.
In the 1970's Dad started one of the first bus ministries in our town. He did all the recruiting, he raised the money, he went to the bus auctions, he canvassed the low income neighborhoods looking for kids who needed a moment in church. He did not make announcements from the pulpit, he did not go to the elders asking their support or help. He just did it. And he did it with great humor and fun. Every Saturday morning we would go to these neighborhoods and ask the parents if they could ride and to look for the big, blue bus. So for years this ministry picked up kids no one else wanted, brought them to church, and fed them along the way, and saved a few from a pointless future. One of the kids went on the manage the ACU bookstore, others went into ministry. At one point the church had several services and a tight timeline. One of the "bus kids" wanted to be baptized, but the leadership decided to do it after the last service because it would disrupt the timing of the assemblies. My dad cornered two of the decision-makers and told them they would not have made the same decision if the child in question had been one of theirs. They apologized the next Sunday..publicly. Dad took no joy in the confrontation and no satisfaction in the apology. He simply stood up for one who could not. He is my hero.
These are only a few of the stories I can recall where he approached life from a perspective of intergrity, compassion, and honesty. The list goes on. He is 91, and can't hear very well, his hip is bothering him on his 10 block walk everyday, and he can't remember all the grandkids names, certainly can't the great-grandkids. But I call 2-3 times a week and he is always the same funny guy.He is always interested in my travels and always makes me feel that the call meant everything to him. He is my hero.
Godspeed, Dad, I love you, You are my HERO.
Don
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Friday, June 14, 2013
June Convergence
It just occurred to me that the first half of June is the perfect alignment of three birthdays. My dad was born June 12, my son on June 4, and my eldest grandson on June 10. Each of these guys have created enormous reservoirs of memories, attitudes, and perceptions.
This past weekend we trekked to Amarillo for my eldest grandson's birthday. He was the magical age of ten. It is a world of baseball, soft-air guns, fart jokes, and a need to be recognized. We were able to watch 2 baseball games (of the seven he played, we didn't go out until Sunday), participate in a birthday party where every game my daughter tried to implement became a game of dodge ball, and watch Enchanted with the entire McCall tribe and Eli curled up next to me on the love seat. We split time between the movie and figuring out how to get the scope on his air-soft rifle. Princess and accuracy, this is the stuff of a ten-year-old's world. It is a magical time. Old enough to do most things for himself, no girls yet to unsettle the universe, and a single thin thread back to the little boy world that he is leaving at light speed. He is growing up. There will be some years in the near future where being with Grandaddy will be a drag, but right now he enjoys it and I crave it. So on this June 10, it was a great moment.
On June 4, I was traveling from one spot to another, in and out of airports, juggling appointments and people. But I woke up thinking about my son born 33 years ago. I knew I wouldn't see him for another week or so, but I wanted him to know that I was thinking about him. So I sent him a text. Short, but heartfelt. He has surpassed what I spent years praying about. So what do you say? I told him I was proud of him. I know that his mother did the heavy lifting. I know he brought a sensitive intelligence into this world with him. I know he was formed and shaped by a God that loves us all. But at some level he is still a product of my influence. We are not alike in personality or looks. He is quiet, an introvert. I am, well..not. He is long and slender. I am, again..not. But we share some traits. He loves his wife and will do anything for her. My bride occupies the center of my world. He works hard and will work in a job he may not be thrilled with, but will grind through it because he cares deeply for those it allows provision. I have spent some long years working in jobs I did not care for because it was more important to provide than to be content. He loves God and asks hard questions and refuses to accept easy answers. I am convinced this is a good thing and it mirrors my life. So in this age of technology I sent a short text that I hoped conveyed all the years of love and pride. This is a new age.
On June 12 I could have sent a text to my dad, but it would still be sitting there unread. It could be because he doesn't know how to answer the text, or it could be because he lost his cell phone again. Either way, it just seemed easier to call him. There is a blog waiting for publication two days from now and I will go more into his life at that moment. But to sum it, there is not another man in THIS world that I would rather be like than him. I will fill that out more later.
80 years of life, from Dad to me to Ben to Eli. I find great comfort in that line up. Godly men, who care for those around them, who will fight when need be, who do not back down. Not a bad heritage. I love each of them in a very special way.
Godspeed to those who find themselves in the wonderful moment of getting to live and love all the generations. It is a moment in time and gone in a flash. But it is a great moment. And I am thankful.
Don
This past weekend we trekked to Amarillo for my eldest grandson's birthday. He was the magical age of ten. It is a world of baseball, soft-air guns, fart jokes, and a need to be recognized. We were able to watch 2 baseball games (of the seven he played, we didn't go out until Sunday), participate in a birthday party where every game my daughter tried to implement became a game of dodge ball, and watch Enchanted with the entire McCall tribe and Eli curled up next to me on the love seat. We split time between the movie and figuring out how to get the scope on his air-soft rifle. Princess and accuracy, this is the stuff of a ten-year-old's world. It is a magical time. Old enough to do most things for himself, no girls yet to unsettle the universe, and a single thin thread back to the little boy world that he is leaving at light speed. He is growing up. There will be some years in the near future where being with Grandaddy will be a drag, but right now he enjoys it and I crave it. So on this June 10, it was a great moment.
On June 4, I was traveling from one spot to another, in and out of airports, juggling appointments and people. But I woke up thinking about my son born 33 years ago. I knew I wouldn't see him for another week or so, but I wanted him to know that I was thinking about him. So I sent him a text. Short, but heartfelt. He has surpassed what I spent years praying about. So what do you say? I told him I was proud of him. I know that his mother did the heavy lifting. I know he brought a sensitive intelligence into this world with him. I know he was formed and shaped by a God that loves us all. But at some level he is still a product of my influence. We are not alike in personality or looks. He is quiet, an introvert. I am, well..not. He is long and slender. I am, again..not. But we share some traits. He loves his wife and will do anything for her. My bride occupies the center of my world. He works hard and will work in a job he may not be thrilled with, but will grind through it because he cares deeply for those it allows provision. I have spent some long years working in jobs I did not care for because it was more important to provide than to be content. He loves God and asks hard questions and refuses to accept easy answers. I am convinced this is a good thing and it mirrors my life. So in this age of technology I sent a short text that I hoped conveyed all the years of love and pride. This is a new age.
On June 12 I could have sent a text to my dad, but it would still be sitting there unread. It could be because he doesn't know how to answer the text, or it could be because he lost his cell phone again. Either way, it just seemed easier to call him. There is a blog waiting for publication two days from now and I will go more into his life at that moment. But to sum it, there is not another man in THIS world that I would rather be like than him. I will fill that out more later.
80 years of life, from Dad to me to Ben to Eli. I find great comfort in that line up. Godly men, who care for those around them, who will fight when need be, who do not back down. Not a bad heritage. I love each of them in a very special way.
Godspeed to those who find themselves in the wonderful moment of getting to live and love all the generations. It is a moment in time and gone in a flash. But it is a great moment. And I am thankful.
Don
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Depends on Where You Stand
For the past day or so I have watched the events unfold in Moore, OK. This story has gripped the headlines, the newscasts, and the casual conversations. I watched my bride late yesterday afternoon make those worried, concern sounds as she watched the pictures of the elementary in ruin. She was saddened and afraid for those little ones that she did not know, but knew of their precious value. We watch now in morbid fascination the death toll tick ever upward and wish we could tear ourselves away from this unfolding event. Wherewill the damage stop? How will the parents and grandparents, the uncles and aunts, the brothers and sisters, the neighbors, how will they adjust? The shape of their worlds and their hearts have changed forever. The rheostat has been dimmed and the future is dark and terrifying. This storm will wreak havoc for years. People have lost all possessions, jobs, and hope. My prediction is that there will be divorces in the years to come that this storm played as a catalyst to bring about. Depression will become a constant companion. It is almost certain that lives and futures, hopes and dreams have been crushed in this moment.
And as believers, how do we respond? The platitudes that we utter to each other seem futile and banal. We hold to a worldview that God is loving and kind, compassionate and sacrificial. Just this morning I sent an email to one of my reps telling him he was in my prayers and thoughts, Yet, even as I wrote it, I knew the pain was his alone to bear. I will go through my day fully functional and unscarred by my rep's loss and the loss north of the Red River. What do we say?
You see, there are at least three different sets of folks in Oklahoma. Each suffered the same event, but with different results. Yet, we have a single God and a singular worldview. What do we say?
The first group is the one we want to deal with because they are the easiest to help. I am speaking of the folks who lost only stuff. We can go in and help them rebuild. We can dig around in our closets and garages and find more than enough surplus stuff to outfit them and dozens of others. They will respond with a brave smile and heart of gratitude, both to us and God. They were spared, prayers were answered. Life will be a chore, but it will go on and the skies will turn blue again. God is indeed a kind and benevolent God.
And the second group is almost as gratifying to interact with. They lost stuff, but suffered some sort of permanent damage. This damage could be physical, or emotional, or financial. Their realty has changed and their world is now one of becoming used to the new normal. It will never be restored, but the damage was not eternal. They might walk with a limp, or not walk at all. They may need counseling for the remainder of their days. Or they may simply have to live life on a smaller scale than they had anticipated. But God spared them their lives and while they are grateful for that, they wonder why He chose to let this happen to them. What could they have possibly done to incur His wrath in this manner? God is good, but they now wonder about his benevolence.
Then there is the group that we can't find the words for. They are standing hunched across the street from the elementary school where they took their little boy or girl, hoping against hope that they first responders will proudly march out of the rubble with their little one clutched close, alive and well. But they are crouched down in their fear, well deserved when they look at the rubble that was once the school, fearing beyond all fears that the "finding" will bring certain devastation to their lives. Or they have already received the news that the bright little boy with the winning smile and the innocent face is gone forever, snatched from them before they could say good-bye or hug one last time or kiss good night. Perhaps it is a husband looking for his teacher-wife and finding that she did what he always knew she would do, sheltered the little ones with her own life. He wanted so badly to tell her, "Don't be a hero" knowing full well she would ignore his request and save all she could. What a desolate and lonely feeling that must be. There are no words of comfort, there is no advice, there is only silence of the soul. What do we tell these people? Where was God when this happened? I suspect there is less a feeling about the goodness of God and more about the presence of God.
It depends on where you stand. The old book gives us a good model on how to deal with the tragedies of life. Jesus wept, then he acted. We should use this model. It has been a great comfort in my life when the storms were fierce that believers simply put their arms around me and wept with me. No words, no advice, no encouragement, just tears mingling with mine. They do not feel the same pain, but they feel some of my pain enough to share in it.
On another level, as to the absence of God, I see a man on a cross asking the same question. When I need you the most, where are you? But it is the essence of faith that the severest test is when the source of the faith is completely unseen. Our worldview needs to be revised. It is not a world of have and have-nots, ins or outs, good or bad. It is a world that says it will happen to you. God never promised us security and safety in this realm, he promised us simply a way to deal with it. But the "dealing" with it is painful. But not without hope.
So we weep, then we help. We embrace those we can. We keep our mouths shut and our hearts open.
Godspeed to those in Moore, OK. I pray that the journey is not too steep. I will cry a special prayer for those who lost ones who will never be replaced.
Don
And as believers, how do we respond? The platitudes that we utter to each other seem futile and banal. We hold to a worldview that God is loving and kind, compassionate and sacrificial. Just this morning I sent an email to one of my reps telling him he was in my prayers and thoughts, Yet, even as I wrote it, I knew the pain was his alone to bear. I will go through my day fully functional and unscarred by my rep's loss and the loss north of the Red River. What do we say?
You see, there are at least three different sets of folks in Oklahoma. Each suffered the same event, but with different results. Yet, we have a single God and a singular worldview. What do we say?
The first group is the one we want to deal with because they are the easiest to help. I am speaking of the folks who lost only stuff. We can go in and help them rebuild. We can dig around in our closets and garages and find more than enough surplus stuff to outfit them and dozens of others. They will respond with a brave smile and heart of gratitude, both to us and God. They were spared, prayers were answered. Life will be a chore, but it will go on and the skies will turn blue again. God is indeed a kind and benevolent God.
And the second group is almost as gratifying to interact with. They lost stuff, but suffered some sort of permanent damage. This damage could be physical, or emotional, or financial. Their realty has changed and their world is now one of becoming used to the new normal. It will never be restored, but the damage was not eternal. They might walk with a limp, or not walk at all. They may need counseling for the remainder of their days. Or they may simply have to live life on a smaller scale than they had anticipated. But God spared them their lives and while they are grateful for that, they wonder why He chose to let this happen to them. What could they have possibly done to incur His wrath in this manner? God is good, but they now wonder about his benevolence.
Then there is the group that we can't find the words for. They are standing hunched across the street from the elementary school where they took their little boy or girl, hoping against hope that they first responders will proudly march out of the rubble with their little one clutched close, alive and well. But they are crouched down in their fear, well deserved when they look at the rubble that was once the school, fearing beyond all fears that the "finding" will bring certain devastation to their lives. Or they have already received the news that the bright little boy with the winning smile and the innocent face is gone forever, snatched from them before they could say good-bye or hug one last time or kiss good night. Perhaps it is a husband looking for his teacher-wife and finding that she did what he always knew she would do, sheltered the little ones with her own life. He wanted so badly to tell her, "Don't be a hero" knowing full well she would ignore his request and save all she could. What a desolate and lonely feeling that must be. There are no words of comfort, there is no advice, there is only silence of the soul. What do we tell these people? Where was God when this happened? I suspect there is less a feeling about the goodness of God and more about the presence of God.
It depends on where you stand. The old book gives us a good model on how to deal with the tragedies of life. Jesus wept, then he acted. We should use this model. It has been a great comfort in my life when the storms were fierce that believers simply put their arms around me and wept with me. No words, no advice, no encouragement, just tears mingling with mine. They do not feel the same pain, but they feel some of my pain enough to share in it.
On another level, as to the absence of God, I see a man on a cross asking the same question. When I need you the most, where are you? But it is the essence of faith that the severest test is when the source of the faith is completely unseen. Our worldview needs to be revised. It is not a world of have and have-nots, ins or outs, good or bad. It is a world that says it will happen to you. God never promised us security and safety in this realm, he promised us simply a way to deal with it. But the "dealing" with it is painful. But not without hope.
So we weep, then we help. We embrace those we can. We keep our mouths shut and our hearts open.
Godspeed to those in Moore, OK. I pray that the journey is not too steep. I will cry a special prayer for those who lost ones who will never be replaced.
Don
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Do Not Be Afraid
Several years ago my brother, Randy Jolly, published a book of the same title. I contributed a chapter as well as my oldest daughter, along with other friends and acquaintances. It is a book with each chapter telling a story of pain and fear and loss of innocence. But the point of the book was the constant exhortation by the creator in the old book to not be afraid. Life throws us into the storm daily and we must find a way to hang on and live and enjoy the journey, even while the storm rages around us.
This past weekend my bride and I made our way north to OK City for the Memorial Run. It is the run to remember those killed in the federal building bombing 18 years ago. This year it comes on the heals of the Boston Marathon bombing which added another emotional level to the event. We arrived to join my oldest daughter and her family. They were all participating in the 5K, as was my bride and myself.
The marathoners go out first, then the 1/2 marathoner, then the 20,000+ 5kers. We were smack in the middle of the mob getting ready to run. As we stood in the middle of the street, packed in like sardines, in the chilled morning air, it was hard not to think of the devastation a similar bombing could have on a crowd packed this tightly. But the race announcer asked for 168 seconds of silence and remembrance for those lost just a few short years ago. I wrote about the impact of that memorial in my blog last year (May 1, 2012, Emotional Journeys) and the impact is with me still. As I stood in silence in the early morning dark on that Oklahoma street, with only the thup-thup-thup of the police helicopters overhead making the only sound, it occurred to me that winning over fear has little to do with whether I won the race, or even finished the race. But it had a great deal to do with me standing there, bunched in tightly with my bride, my eldest daughter, grandson number 1, granddaughter number 1 and son-in-law number 1. I had a great deal to lose if someone with evil intent chose that moment to mete out that particular form of hatred. And this only a block or so from where it had occurred before. Personal loss for me is not my life, but the lives of those around me who cherish so much. Fear for them was the greater emotion.
So how do we conquer fear? I'm not sure. I think it has to do with not allowing it to control what we do or what we avoid. I ran the race with this precious boy,
This past weekend my bride and I made our way north to OK City for the Memorial Run. It is the run to remember those killed in the federal building bombing 18 years ago. This year it comes on the heals of the Boston Marathon bombing which added another emotional level to the event. We arrived to join my oldest daughter and her family. They were all participating in the 5K, as was my bride and myself.
The marathoners go out first, then the 1/2 marathoner, then the 20,000+ 5kers. We were smack in the middle of the mob getting ready to run. As we stood in the middle of the street, packed in like sardines, in the chilled morning air, it was hard not to think of the devastation a similar bombing could have on a crowd packed this tightly. But the race announcer asked for 168 seconds of silence and remembrance for those lost just a few short years ago. I wrote about the impact of that memorial in my blog last year (May 1, 2012, Emotional Journeys) and the impact is with me still. As I stood in silence in the early morning dark on that Oklahoma street, with only the thup-thup-thup of the police helicopters overhead making the only sound, it occurred to me that winning over fear has little to do with whether I won the race, or even finished the race. But it had a great deal to do with me standing there, bunched in tightly with my bride, my eldest daughter, grandson number 1, granddaughter number 1 and son-in-law number 1. I had a great deal to lose if someone with evil intent chose that moment to mete out that particular form of hatred. And this only a block or so from where it had occurred before. Personal loss for me is not my life, but the lives of those around me who cherish so much. Fear for them was the greater emotion.
So how do we conquer fear? I'm not sure. I think it has to do with not allowing it to control what we do or what we avoid. I ran the race with this precious boy,
And he ran with me almost every step of the way, chattering a one-sided conversation to my huffing and puffing. I had not trained for this due to some minor surgery, but I would not trade the moment for all the pain that occurred during the run. But the real purpose of the moment for me was the old truth and the new realization that I can't let fear decide what eternal moments I will receive and what I will miss. On the last turn, when the big, green finish line sign showed up, I turned him loose to sprint to the end. There was no gas left in my tank, and I realized with deep emotional pride that the boy ran with me because he wanted to, not because our pace matched. It is these moments when I refuse to let the demon known as Fear decide what joy I will receive in this life.
The journey or race we run is decided by what we do, not what we don't do. The creator allowed me this moment and it was good.
Godspeed to those who choose to run, and choose to beat Fear at its own game.
Don
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Non Go-Alongs
There are certain things in life that go together. Chocolate and peanut butter, Reese's has built a brand on this combination. Sunscreen and beaches, steak and potatoes, Eagles and road trips, wine and anything, these are combos so entrenched they are almost cliches.
But there are some things that do not go together. Does anyone out there like the weird, pucker-up-your-face combo of donuts and orange juice? They just don't mix. Until I worked in a machine shop in college I would have said oil and water, but they have figured out a way to blend them to produce a cooling and lubrication solution. There is now another entry into my list of things that do not mix.
Kidney's are a wonderful little organ that filters all the minerals and salts out of your system then stages these impurities for transport out of the body. It is pretty cool process and very necessary for us homo sapiens.
Stones are equally cool. They were the first tools for humanoids. When refined they can grind grain into flour, crush grapes, mill all sorts of things. They can even be smoothed and rounded and can be very durable wheels .
However, I discovered that kidneys and stones are not good companions. Easter Sunday I woke up at 4:30AM with a brutal back ache. Generally I do not have back aches. My bride convinced me a couple of years ago to spend a bit of time in yoga. The stretching really helped keep my back pain-free, the calming sessions at the end garnered me some really good naps. So it was with a bit of surprise that I woke up to this gripping back ache. The back ache quickly escalated (and I am talking mere minutes) to a full-fledged, pouring sweat, nauseated self diagnosis of "kidney stone"!!!!When my bride asked me what she needed to do I told her (man, I hope I didn't yell at her) to get dressed. I needed a ride to the ER.
As I have pointed out on this blog, when you go to the ER and have a distinguished head of grey hair, they rush you right in. The only catch is that it has to be "chest pains". Apparently, if it is not chest pains they dawdle and fill out paperwork, ask all sorts of inane questions, and generally drag their feet.
"Is there any place I can lie down?"
"No, there will be a nurse here in a minute."
I'm looking at the floor and wondered what sort of settlement my bride would get if I just collapsed on the floor and died of some sort of staff infection.
20 minutes later I'm ushered into a small cubicle so a disinterested male nurse could take my vitals. Couldn't get a temp, tried three times, changed thermometer twice. "STOP WITH THE STUPID TEMP! I DO NOT HAVE A FEVER!" I may have over-reacted.
Finally they showed me to my room. By the way, all the this moving around was under my own power, hunched over, trying not to gag when the pain cycled upwards. I crawled onto the bed, drew my knees up and prepared to meet my Maker. I was done, this was the end. Then they introduced my savior, the name is morphine, it is my friend. Oh, and warm blankets. We have GOT to get us the machine that keeps the blankets warm.
Gradually I began to feel well enough to ask the pretty, young nurse about the scrubs she wears, Koi with a Peaches warm-up. She was bright and efficient and probably smart. My comment to my bride was that I found it sad that the bright nurse was wearing a competitor's brand while "numbnuts" the disinterested male nurse was wearing the brand I sell. Irony is not your friend at 5:30AM in the ER.
The on-call Doc came in and said I had a kidney stone...no kidding, Sherlock. They were going to do a CT scan. Which revealed the stone still in the kidney and too large to pass. So another procedure and another trip to the hospital is in store. I'm sure that story will come out in another blog. But I am here to tell you that after my visit with the urologist there is no one I want handling my junk like that anymore. They handed me a printout of what will happen while I am asleep.. I haven't read it. But we are going to separate the stone and kidney, the stone is being forceably removed, evicted, kicked out. It annoys my kidney and I love my kidney more than the stone.
Godspeed on this journey. Some days are diamonds, some are stones. I'm getting rid of the stone days.
Don
But there are some things that do not go together. Does anyone out there like the weird, pucker-up-your-face combo of donuts and orange juice? They just don't mix. Until I worked in a machine shop in college I would have said oil and water, but they have figured out a way to blend them to produce a cooling and lubrication solution. There is now another entry into my list of things that do not mix.
Kidney's are a wonderful little organ that filters all the minerals and salts out of your system then stages these impurities for transport out of the body. It is pretty cool process and very necessary for us homo sapiens.
Stones are equally cool. They were the first tools for humanoids. When refined they can grind grain into flour, crush grapes, mill all sorts of things. They can even be smoothed and rounded and can be very durable wheels .
However, I discovered that kidneys and stones are not good companions. Easter Sunday I woke up at 4:30AM with a brutal back ache. Generally I do not have back aches. My bride convinced me a couple of years ago to spend a bit of time in yoga. The stretching really helped keep my back pain-free, the calming sessions at the end garnered me some really good naps. So it was with a bit of surprise that I woke up to this gripping back ache. The back ache quickly escalated (and I am talking mere minutes) to a full-fledged, pouring sweat, nauseated self diagnosis of "kidney stone"!!!!When my bride asked me what she needed to do I told her (man, I hope I didn't yell at her) to get dressed. I needed a ride to the ER.
As I have pointed out on this blog, when you go to the ER and have a distinguished head of grey hair, they rush you right in. The only catch is that it has to be "chest pains". Apparently, if it is not chest pains they dawdle and fill out paperwork, ask all sorts of inane questions, and generally drag their feet.
"Is there any place I can lie down?"
"No, there will be a nurse here in a minute."
I'm looking at the floor and wondered what sort of settlement my bride would get if I just collapsed on the floor and died of some sort of staff infection.
20 minutes later I'm ushered into a small cubicle so a disinterested male nurse could take my vitals. Couldn't get a temp, tried three times, changed thermometer twice. "STOP WITH THE STUPID TEMP! I DO NOT HAVE A FEVER!" I may have over-reacted.
Finally they showed me to my room. By the way, all the this moving around was under my own power, hunched over, trying not to gag when the pain cycled upwards. I crawled onto the bed, drew my knees up and prepared to meet my Maker. I was done, this was the end. Then they introduced my savior, the name is morphine, it is my friend. Oh, and warm blankets. We have GOT to get us the machine that keeps the blankets warm.
Gradually I began to feel well enough to ask the pretty, young nurse about the scrubs she wears, Koi with a Peaches warm-up. She was bright and efficient and probably smart. My comment to my bride was that I found it sad that the bright nurse was wearing a competitor's brand while "numbnuts" the disinterested male nurse was wearing the brand I sell. Irony is not your friend at 5:30AM in the ER.
The on-call Doc came in and said I had a kidney stone...no kidding, Sherlock. They were going to do a CT scan. Which revealed the stone still in the kidney and too large to pass. So another procedure and another trip to the hospital is in store. I'm sure that story will come out in another blog. But I am here to tell you that after my visit with the urologist there is no one I want handling my junk like that anymore. They handed me a printout of what will happen while I am asleep.. I haven't read it. But we are going to separate the stone and kidney, the stone is being forceably removed, evicted, kicked out. It annoys my kidney and I love my kidney more than the stone.
Godspeed on this journey. Some days are diamonds, some are stones. I'm getting rid of the stone days.
Don
Thursday, March 28, 2013
A Love Story
The following is a story of love and sacrifice, dealing with a new normal, grace in the face of adversity, and unrelenting change.
There was a couple that loved each other a great deal. They had common interests and wanted more than anything to simply live out their lives, working their jobs, and enjoying life. These are not uncommon desires. They are what we all share. It is the commonality that gives us the empathy to deal with whatever life can throw at us. Some of us, however, get hard balls thrown at the head which are impossible to duck. This was true of this couple.
He was driving home from work one day and suffered a massive stroke. Years of smoking, diet not best suited to low cholesterol and genetics caught up with him in one moment of calamity. The stroke was unexpected, no warning signs, no anticipation. It was a life-altering and life-threatening event. It changed forever the scope and hope of his life.
It also changed forever the life and dreams of his wife. She would now be called upon to bath, dress, and feed her husband. The responsibility of earning enough for them to live on would fall on her shoulders. Would she have enough strength? Would she have enough determination? Would her love be strong enough to endure the indignities that she would be called on by this new "normal"?
A lot of couples would have fallen apart. She could have said, "I didn't sign up for this. I'm out." But she didn't. In the following years she would graciously endure the criticism of her husband's family about his care and therapy. Through the years she made sure her husband could attend the holidays and family reunions, even though travel was extraordinarily difficult. Air travel in particular created almost insurmountable obstacles. But she quietly and diligently made sure that her husband would have full benefit of his extended family.
Life at home was a new challenge. Conversation had to be adapted to questions that could be answered with a simple "yes" or "no". Long talks, and banter, and even arguments were now only memories from another life and another time. Care and feeding of an infant is difficult at best, but the care and feeding of a 50-yr-old is mind-numbing and constant and hard. Doubts and fears and self-pity are constant companions. Life threw a Nolan Ryan hardball and derailed the life that they never would have imagined. It has been years since the fateful ride home from work.
This is a real couple. I know them well. They are a part of my bride's family. And they are gay. They are not "married" but committed "life partners". All the references above to the husband is my bride's sister. The "wife" is her partner. I look at them and I wonder how I can criticize their life's choices. Would I be able to handle the struggles with the same grace and quietness that they have? Would I instead rage at the world and the creator who would allow this tragedy? Would I be able to handle the partner's family with the same patience and grace and maturity that the family failed to exhibit? I would like to answer yes, but I know my heart well enough to know that I would not be as calm and gracious and compassionate were I wearing their shoes.
A few years ago through spiritual disciplines and a lot of self incriminating examination I changed my view of God. I was raised in religious tribe that had little patience with differing views, even amongst themselves. We took what we thought was God's Word and hammered whoever disagreed with us. As a fellow told me one time while reflecting on what he had heard while listening to sermons as a child, "Jesus loves you, you are going to Hell". We assumed we were mirroring the nature of God.This shaped our doctrinal approaches to virtually every cultural event.But when I changed my view of God, I changed my view of others.
Now, I lean against the mindset. The best analogy I can come up with is a judge sitting on the bench and the next case is called and he looks down and realizes that the defendant is his own son. And he is guilty. I think the judge would start looking for ways to waive the guilty sentence. I think he would look for any nuance in the judgement, he would scour the law books looking for any slim loophole that would set his son free. He would ignore the massive momentum of evidence and look for one small spark of remorse, one little glance of appeal. And he would find a way to commute the sentence, to step down from the bench, fling his judge robe aside and embrace his son, taking him home, free and forgiven.
I hope this is the scene when I stand before the Creator because I suspect I have far more to answer for than those I wrote about above. If they are judged on the pureness of their hearts as evidenced by their lives described above, then they have far less to worry about with their sexual orientation than I do with my judgemental attitude. I believe that God will look into their hearts and see sacrifice and dedication and grace. It is my sincere hope that he sees a little of that in mine.
Godspeed to Nancy and Glen. This journey has been steep for you. My prayer is that your reward will be great for making the journey with all the grace and humility you exhibit every time I see you. We love you.
Don
There was a couple that loved each other a great deal. They had common interests and wanted more than anything to simply live out their lives, working their jobs, and enjoying life. These are not uncommon desires. They are what we all share. It is the commonality that gives us the empathy to deal with whatever life can throw at us. Some of us, however, get hard balls thrown at the head which are impossible to duck. This was true of this couple.
He was driving home from work one day and suffered a massive stroke. Years of smoking, diet not best suited to low cholesterol and genetics caught up with him in one moment of calamity. The stroke was unexpected, no warning signs, no anticipation. It was a life-altering and life-threatening event. It changed forever the scope and hope of his life.
It also changed forever the life and dreams of his wife. She would now be called upon to bath, dress, and feed her husband. The responsibility of earning enough for them to live on would fall on her shoulders. Would she have enough strength? Would she have enough determination? Would her love be strong enough to endure the indignities that she would be called on by this new "normal"?
A lot of couples would have fallen apart. She could have said, "I didn't sign up for this. I'm out." But she didn't. In the following years she would graciously endure the criticism of her husband's family about his care and therapy. Through the years she made sure her husband could attend the holidays and family reunions, even though travel was extraordinarily difficult. Air travel in particular created almost insurmountable obstacles. But she quietly and diligently made sure that her husband would have full benefit of his extended family.
Life at home was a new challenge. Conversation had to be adapted to questions that could be answered with a simple "yes" or "no". Long talks, and banter, and even arguments were now only memories from another life and another time. Care and feeding of an infant is difficult at best, but the care and feeding of a 50-yr-old is mind-numbing and constant and hard. Doubts and fears and self-pity are constant companions. Life threw a Nolan Ryan hardball and derailed the life that they never would have imagined. It has been years since the fateful ride home from work.
This is a real couple. I know them well. They are a part of my bride's family. And they are gay. They are not "married" but committed "life partners". All the references above to the husband is my bride's sister. The "wife" is her partner. I look at them and I wonder how I can criticize their life's choices. Would I be able to handle the struggles with the same grace and quietness that they have? Would I instead rage at the world and the creator who would allow this tragedy? Would I be able to handle the partner's family with the same patience and grace and maturity that the family failed to exhibit? I would like to answer yes, but I know my heart well enough to know that I would not be as calm and gracious and compassionate were I wearing their shoes.
A few years ago through spiritual disciplines and a lot of self incriminating examination I changed my view of God. I was raised in religious tribe that had little patience with differing views, even amongst themselves. We took what we thought was God's Word and hammered whoever disagreed with us. As a fellow told me one time while reflecting on what he had heard while listening to sermons as a child, "Jesus loves you, you are going to Hell". We assumed we were mirroring the nature of God.This shaped our doctrinal approaches to virtually every cultural event.But when I changed my view of God, I changed my view of others.
Now, I lean against the mindset. The best analogy I can come up with is a judge sitting on the bench and the next case is called and he looks down and realizes that the defendant is his own son. And he is guilty. I think the judge would start looking for ways to waive the guilty sentence. I think he would look for any nuance in the judgement, he would scour the law books looking for any slim loophole that would set his son free. He would ignore the massive momentum of evidence and look for one small spark of remorse, one little glance of appeal. And he would find a way to commute the sentence, to step down from the bench, fling his judge robe aside and embrace his son, taking him home, free and forgiven.
I hope this is the scene when I stand before the Creator because I suspect I have far more to answer for than those I wrote about above. If they are judged on the pureness of their hearts as evidenced by their lives described above, then they have far less to worry about with their sexual orientation than I do with my judgemental attitude. I believe that God will look into their hearts and see sacrifice and dedication and grace. It is my sincere hope that he sees a little of that in mine.
Godspeed to Nancy and Glen. This journey has been steep for you. My prayer is that your reward will be great for making the journey with all the grace and humility you exhibit every time I see you. We love you.
Don
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Prevarication
"To stray from or evade the truth; equivocate.."
I am not a good liar. There are times when that trait would be very useful..
But I simply cannot live with the consequences of prevarication. Even the word makes it sound okay. I like the word "equivocate" just as much. It sound like I would LIKE to tell the truth, but I simply can't. Sorry Truth, I was rooting for you, but it simply didn't work out this time. Maybe next time.
Yesterday I intentionally practiced prevarication with my boss. Not a huge deal. I am on a trip to meet with an underperforming rep, at the last minute the rep informed me (long after the plane tickets were bought) that he "thinks he has passover" on Monday. Really? It came to you last minute? I can tell you right now when Easter and Christmas are this year, and next, and the one after that. But the trip was planned and I didn't want the hassle of changing flight schedules, hotels, etc.
Now I had several long phone calls where I asked him to bring this and that. We discussed several aspects of his territory. These were preparatory conversations and ones that were going to take place anyway. And I found them mildly annoying because this was not the training scenario that I had developed in my head. So I was frustrated.
Then my boss called and during the conversation asked in passing how it was going with the rep, I told it was fine, we were covering the basics and would dig deeper the next day. I have worked with this guy long enough to know what he was asking, but I prevaricated. I answered the questions as if the rep and I had spoken in person, but I knew that my boss had not gotten the correct picture of what had happened. Essentailly, I had answered what he had asked, but had evaded the "truth" of his questions.
In years past this would have produced a pang of guilt, quickly over and soon forgotten. Perhaps when I was younger, it was easier. But this small omission, hinging really on one word in his question and a small word in my answer kept me up all night. Rattling around in my head was not so much the variety of ways that the real truth could come out, but the reality that I had violated some deep-seated view of myself. Several times during the night I was tempted to pick up the phone, reclarify the question and get this out of my head. By the time I decided to call it was midnight in California and it would seem even more bizarre than the original innocuous question.
Why does this matter so much to me now? Our culture does not put much of a premium on honesty or integrity or truthfulness. Our cornerstone institutions put no real emphasis on these traits either. In fact it seems that the world around us values the imagination applied to creative prevarication. How far can one stray from the truth and not be considered a liar? It is not a line in the sand, but a continuum from stark truth to any small ingredient of truth. The continuum is a mile wide and paper-thin. It bothers me now because I know better. There is no illusion that I was telling the truth, I can fool a lot of people, but my conscience calls me on it everytime. My bride can do just about as well. Words are usually my friends until they convict me inside my own brain. The older I get the less truth is subjective, it has become objective. What I say and do is either the truth or it is not. Very simple, very hard.
So I left a text for my boss very early the next morning asking him to call, not an emergency, but call as early as you can. He called, I went straight to the confession, offering no qualifiers (by the way, a true apology offers no reasons, no qualifiers, it is a simple "I'm sorry") He said he trusted me 1000%, he felt it odd that my answer was uncharacteristically short (not sure what he meant there) and to move on. The situation still bothered me during the day, but more of a dissapointment in myself, than a reliving the event. Am I the only one that is bothered by this? I suspect not, but it still pesters me that I slipped out of my own self-image so easily, and for no real reason. At this point I guess the moral victory here is that I was bothered by the entire episode. I liked last year's model of me much better. Sigh.
Godspeed out there. Self realization can be tough, but at least be truthful to yourself.
Don
I am not a good liar. There are times when that trait would be very useful..
But I simply cannot live with the consequences of prevarication. Even the word makes it sound okay. I like the word "equivocate" just as much. It sound like I would LIKE to tell the truth, but I simply can't. Sorry Truth, I was rooting for you, but it simply didn't work out this time. Maybe next time.
Yesterday I intentionally practiced prevarication with my boss. Not a huge deal. I am on a trip to meet with an underperforming rep, at the last minute the rep informed me (long after the plane tickets were bought) that he "thinks he has passover" on Monday. Really? It came to you last minute? I can tell you right now when Easter and Christmas are this year, and next, and the one after that. But the trip was planned and I didn't want the hassle of changing flight schedules, hotels, etc.
Now I had several long phone calls where I asked him to bring this and that. We discussed several aspects of his territory. These were preparatory conversations and ones that were going to take place anyway. And I found them mildly annoying because this was not the training scenario that I had developed in my head. So I was frustrated.
Then my boss called and during the conversation asked in passing how it was going with the rep, I told it was fine, we were covering the basics and would dig deeper the next day. I have worked with this guy long enough to know what he was asking, but I prevaricated. I answered the questions as if the rep and I had spoken in person, but I knew that my boss had not gotten the correct picture of what had happened. Essentailly, I had answered what he had asked, but had evaded the "truth" of his questions.
In years past this would have produced a pang of guilt, quickly over and soon forgotten. Perhaps when I was younger, it was easier. But this small omission, hinging really on one word in his question and a small word in my answer kept me up all night. Rattling around in my head was not so much the variety of ways that the real truth could come out, but the reality that I had violated some deep-seated view of myself. Several times during the night I was tempted to pick up the phone, reclarify the question and get this out of my head. By the time I decided to call it was midnight in California and it would seem even more bizarre than the original innocuous question.
Why does this matter so much to me now? Our culture does not put much of a premium on honesty or integrity or truthfulness. Our cornerstone institutions put no real emphasis on these traits either. In fact it seems that the world around us values the imagination applied to creative prevarication. How far can one stray from the truth and not be considered a liar? It is not a line in the sand, but a continuum from stark truth to any small ingredient of truth. The continuum is a mile wide and paper-thin. It bothers me now because I know better. There is no illusion that I was telling the truth, I can fool a lot of people, but my conscience calls me on it everytime. My bride can do just about as well. Words are usually my friends until they convict me inside my own brain. The older I get the less truth is subjective, it has become objective. What I say and do is either the truth or it is not. Very simple, very hard.
So I left a text for my boss very early the next morning asking him to call, not an emergency, but call as early as you can. He called, I went straight to the confession, offering no qualifiers (by the way, a true apology offers no reasons, no qualifiers, it is a simple "I'm sorry") He said he trusted me 1000%, he felt it odd that my answer was uncharacteristically short (not sure what he meant there) and to move on. The situation still bothered me during the day, but more of a dissapointment in myself, than a reliving the event. Am I the only one that is bothered by this? I suspect not, but it still pesters me that I slipped out of my own self-image so easily, and for no real reason. At this point I guess the moral victory here is that I was bothered by the entire episode. I liked last year's model of me much better. Sigh.
Godspeed out there. Self realization can be tough, but at least be truthful to yourself.
Don
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